Unbind Me To Darkness
by GraciePixie
Summary: She may be both the salvation or the bane of Middle Earth, but can her love for Legolas sustain her through the dark days ahead?... Well tickle me pink! Another chapter for you patient ones...
1. The Chase

Authors Note: For the record, this story follows the basic plot (ie Ring, Sauron, Ringbearer, Fellowship etc.) very closely. I have, in places taken dialogue from the books. Characters aint mine neither is the plot or anything else in Middle Earth except for Nephryn, (but my birthday is comin up soon and I'n right keen on a certain pointy-eared archer) Apologies if the references aint entirely accurate (though I was armed with the Tolkien Bestiary, Trilogy, Unfinished Tales, Silmarillon and the Hobbit) Please r/r. If yer nice, I'll post the next part up, which is all ready underway.

By the way, since I'm shiny and new to dis business, I have no idea what a "May-Sue" is so I dunno whether to stick my story in this category or not... but judging from the stormy reviews on such stories, I kinda hope mine aint. Could someone enlighten me??

Thanks...

Part I

The tranquil silence was broken by the thunderous pulse of horse's unshod hooves against the forest carpet of twig, leaf and moss. They paced themselves at gallop, despite the warren of branch's, ditches and banks that threatened to snap their necks at first falter. They were proficient horsemen. They knew the trail well. 

Four great mares, standing tall at nineteen hands travelled in pairs. A sleek grey stallion brought up the rear. The horses were sure-footed under the adept hands of their masters. 

The riders themselves sat tall in the saddle. All wore tunics and breeches of varying sylvan shades: moss greens, taupe, beech-bark grey. They used no saddles. They had no need. Such was their skill, and their oneness with their steed. The four on white mounts carried each two long swords, strapped across their backs. They also carried small mithril daggers, one at the hip and one on the ankle. The rider at the rear in addition a long bow. It was formed from the palest sandalwood and tipped with filigreed which glinted brightly in the smattering of sunlight that pierced the forest canopy above them. All had long flowing flaxen hair, braided away from their faces. Their pointed ear lobes, tall stature and fair faces marked them as elves. They moved through the forest with such sinewy speed with the custom shared by all of their race.

They rode with purpose and some sense of urgency. Suddenly, without any warning the elf on the grey steed pulled up short. His mount responded instantly, and his companions followed suite without instruction, almost as soon as the first had stopped.

"My lord?" One of the riders proceeded to the elf on the grey stallion.

Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, held up his hand in response to the unasked question, signalling for there to be silence. And so there was. There was an empty, strange silence. It was quite perplexing, almost outlandish. The forest seemed abruptly devoid of life. Almost as though something had terrified it into submission. Legolas's keen elven hearing strained for any sound amidst the eerie calm. 

Nothing. And his equally keen sight told him that there was nothing amiss. His instincts told him otherwise. 

"My lord!" One of his two aides had deemed it sensible to break into the prince's thoughts. Legolas looked to the elf.

"Time presses us to move ahead. Rivendell is still half a day's journey. Your father instructed us that this is a matter or some urgency." 

His aide, Calyn was seemingly embarrassed at having to steer his lord on.

"Does something trouble you, Legolas?" The Council member, Eirithryn smiled faintly from behind his own aide Yateesh.

"Nothing. I feared something was amiss in our wake. But alas I fear our long journey has eroded on my senses." 

Legolas was about to wave them on, when something crashed over a ridge behind them. No one was in any doubt now that this was not nothing. 

Best he could guess, Legolas thought it to be an elf. He was moving too quickly, on foot, to be man or dwarf. And it moved with the same fluidness and grace, despite the fact that he was obviously on the run from something. 

It became instantly clear what it was that had spurred the elf into such a run. Not far behind, three massive black mounts burst through the thicket. 

Ridden by equally imposing beings who they carried swords of steel, black maces and blackened blades. They were clad in hauberks of mail and silver helms. And they were immediately distinct to Legolas and his companions by their glowing red eyes, peering out from under deep hoods.

"Úlairi!" Yateesh shouted above the din of the pounding of the Ringwraiths. Legolas muttered a curse as his spurred his horse after the fleeing elf. Ringwraiths in the vicinity so near to Rivendell did not bode well. His companions followed in his wake without question. It was the Elven way to give aid to any of their kindred. Elbereth knew there were to few of their kind left, for them not to give aid. 

It wasn't long before the Black Riders closed the gap on Legolas's group. Without instruction, Calyn broke off the pursuit to divert slow the Úlairi's progress. He whipped out the long gilded sword and lashed out at the first horse, burying in deep into its breast, causing the creature to rise up in pain. 

Legolas urged his horse on faster. The unknown elf was swift and surefooted, cutting the straightest line through the thickest of foliage, thus slowing hunters' progress.

An anguished cry snapped Legolas's attention back. He glanced back to see Calyn hunched deeply on his horse, clutching at some unknown wound. Quickly Legolas realised that they would by bested by the deadly Ringwraiths.

"Yateesh!" 

He called over his shoulder and the aide to the council-member rode up beside him. 

"Leave us. Fetch help. Rivendell is not far and there are bound to be patrols nearby. Hurry now."

Loath as he was to leave his masters, Yateesh knew, just as Legolas did, that this was the best of a bad lot of options.

He veered away from Legolas and Eirithryn, into less dense forest and raced away in a gallop. 

Legolas glanced behind him once more to see that the Black Riders had abandoned their assault on brave Calyn, and had resumed their pursuit with even greater. He slowed his pace and Eirithryn followed suit. Legolas's bow was drawn and a slim, feathered arrow set before he had fully halted.

He turned to face their enemies. Eirithryn had drawn his sword and the Ringwraiths slowed their approach. 

Legolas felled the first before it had time to draw its sword. Eirithryn, unwilling to wait, moved forward to engage another. 

Retrieving another arrow from his quiver, he fired off a shot at the horse of the third Nazgûl. 

"Legolas!" Eirithryn called to him.

"Fetch the elf. I will keep them at bay."

Legolas nodded, breathless, as he fired one last shot and fled again into the thicket. He caught up quickly but even as he sped along, he was amazed at the speed and agility of this mysterious character.

Up ahead, his keen eyes spotted a tall crest, one, which would surely slow the other elf's progress. 

It did not. Instead of slowing, he raced even harder, and at the last minute, launched himself upwards, grasping a large overhead branch and swing over the crest.

Muttering, he compelled his steed on and over the crest.

Their mystery was nowhere to be seen. It was as though he had vanished. There was no trace that he had even been beyond the crest. 

Legolas was about to leave when his keen ears caught the faintest of breaths. Slowly, so as not to startle, he turned. There, sitting under the crest, squeezed behind a chunk of protruding root, crouched their mystery elf.

He could not see his eyes, but Legolas the yielding in his posture as he stood out from his cover. As he stood, Legolas could see that the elf was smaller than he'd first thought, narrower shoulders and a slim waist. Almost-

He pulled back his cape and Legolas realised that the hunted elf was in fact an elf-maiden. She shook as she stood, exertion played on her face. There was a soft sheen on her face, as though she had run very far but remained very cold. She was of Elven descent, of that there was no question. Her tiny pointed ears nudged out from under a curtain of raven hair that fell pooling into her hood. Her eyes sparkled green from under long lustrous eyelashes. Her lips were stained with blood from a small cut on her upper lip. She laid her hands out for Legolas to see that she held not weapons. 

A shout from behind the crest told him instantly that Eirithryn had not contained the other Ringwraith. The panic on his face must have told the elf maiden of their plight because as soon as he held out his handed, she accepted without falter. He hauled her easily up on front of him and she clung weakly to his waist, narrow arms barely able to circle his waist.

**********

The Ringwraith crashed over the crest, and Legolas loosed another arrow from his quiver. As he aimed though, he saw that the Nazgûl had his crossbow drawn and aimed on the elf maid before it had even landed. Legolas released the arrow to late, and felt the elf maids grip slacken. 

He grasped tiny frame more firmly, feeling the slickness of blood under his fingers and spurred his horse away. The Black Rider pursued and Legolas felt sure that he would be caught. He had the means, but no free hand with which to defend himself.

As suddenly as it had appeared, however, the Ringwraith disappeared. Legolas slowed and turned to see Yateesh and two strangers behind him.

He sighed in relief and allowed himself a small smile as he trotted back toward them. He had thought he had made the wrong decision in dispatching Yateesh. Now he knew that not to be the case.

Behind Yateesh, Eirithryn approached with Calyn's steed. His eyes were orbs of sorrow as he shook his head at Legolas's silent question. Calyn was dead. He sighed deeply. 

"Good sir!" One of the strangers approached him.

"I am Elladan, son of Elrond Half-Elven." He nodded to Legolas.

"This is Elrohir, son of Elrond Half-Elven, and my brother."

Legolas nodded his thanks. They were indeed fortunate that the famed sons of the Lord of Rivendell were able to aid them. He bowed slightly, breathing deeply.

"I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, Lord of the Woodland elves of Northern Mirkwood."

Elladan smiled at this. Lord Elrond was expecting this band, but not until tomorrow. The brothers knew of well of the infamous archer-son of Thranduil, but they had never met. 

"What burden do you bear?" He nodded to the small bundle in that Legolas held.

Legolas looked down and using one hand, removed the hood, revealing the stricken elf maid.

"She was being hunted by the Úlairi, for reason's that are not known to me. She is unarmed and she is injured. By your leave, I will proceed ahead to Rivendell to seek a healer." Elladan needed only to nod once and Legolas was gone.

There was no need for diplomacy. Eirithryn would handle that, and they could take the time to retrieve Calyn's body. His heart was aggrieved to think of the loss of such a fine friend and aid. 

He could not think of that now. Speed was of the essence. The ever-paling maiden in his arms spurred him onward.

********** 


	2. Refuge

The stables of Lord Elrond Half-Elven were deserted in the early morn, save one man who paced the forecourt edgily. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir to the throne of Gondor, was a man in waiting. And to any onlooker, clearly it did not befit him.

Better known to all his comrades and friends as Strider, he was be nature and by trade a Ranger of the North. As he stood now, in the chilled air under pale morning sunlight he wore a forest green, adorned only with a delicate silver star clasp. He wore long leather boots and carried on his waist a Halbereth sword. From a distance, he looked to be preparing for battle.

And in his own mind, he was. Yesterday evening, a ranger who rode with Elladan and Elrohir returned early, bearing news the sons of Elrond had gone to the aid of an elf set upon by Ringwraiths. The ranger spoke of the alert being raised by an aid to the Prince of Mirkwood. This aid knew only that the pursued was of elven descent and that it moved very quickly. Male of female, he knew not.

And so Aragorn stood in wait, for his one love, Arwen Undomiél had left only yesterday morning alone to seek out her brothers. Aragorn was a feared that this mystery elf was none other than the fairest maiden of Rivendell. Although through his long years at Rivendell, Arwen had left on such trips many times and she was quite the skilled warrior, news of the Úlairi chilled his heart. 

Only two days previously had Arwen rescued the Ring-bearer hobbit Frodo from the clutches of the dreaded Úlairi. Strider had accompanied this Ring-bearer and three other hobbits from their Shire home to Rivendell, and they were almost there when the Nazgûl attacked. Had his beloved brave elf maiden not swept when she had Frodo would surely be dead from the poisons, loosed on him by the Black Riders. No one had been thus sure where the Black Riders had gone, until now.

The sound of hooves at a gallop roused him from his black thoughts. Aragorn looked up to see a grey stallion fast approaching. Although he could not yet make out the face of the approaching rider, there was only one who rode so expertly without saddle or rein. As the stallion neared closer, Aragorn could see that it was indeed Legolas, fair prince of Mirkwood and his long-time friend. He could see that Legolas bore a small bundle in front of him, the hunted elf no doubt.

"Undomiél?" The anguished cry was torn from his lips as he approached the elven prince. 

Legolas brought his steed to a halt. The elf knew well of the love between him and the fairest maiden of Rivendell. 

Legolas shook his head as he revealed the elf's ashen face. 

"Nay. Fear not my friend. But quickly, are the healers prepared?" 

Legolas relinquished his grasp on the fair stranger only to hand her to Aragorn while he dismounted. Aragorn nodded.

He could only guess as to her injuries, but grave they must be for Legolas to dispense so quickly with greetings.

As he held the elf maid, he could not help but notice how slight she felt, even for her slim frame. But still his heart felt lighter, for his love was safe. His hands felt the slickness of blood on her back. As he handed her back to Legolas, the elf prince explained that they had ridden all night. He had stopped only once to remove the Nazgûl arrow and staunch the bleeding. His precious burden had not stirred.

The elf prince did not need directions to the place of healers. Many times had Legolas been a guest at Rivendell, but still far to little for Arwen or Aragorn's liking. 

"I will follow after I tend to your horse!" Aragorn called after his friend, but he doubted that Legolas had even heard him. It was rarely that he saw his steadfast friend so troubled. But, as many of late had noted to him, these were indeed strange times. 

He turned quickly, and lead Legolas's fine steed toward a stable, his step lighter now that his heart was relieved of its weighty burden. 

**********

Lord of Rivendell was stirred from him thoughts and woes by a sharp rapping on the large oak door of his private study. He'd dwelled all the long night on the thought of his beloved daughter in the grip of death, wrought on by Úlairi. From his study he had view of the stables, and he'd spied with the greatest relief Aragorn's reaction when the identity of the wounded elf was revealed. It was not Arwen. 

His aide now entered, timidly peering around that massive door,

"Good Lord, Prince Legolas has arrived. He wishes to speak with you. He is with the healers. Shall I bid him wait?" 

Elrond did not turn around, merely raised his hand in dismissal as he spoke.

"No I shall be with him momentarily." 

Truly, he was vexed like never before. Not even when he fought a Dagorlad with Elven-King Gilgalad, was that threat of the dark so great. And now, the Dark lord's most fell servants had besieged Rivendell, one of the last havens of the Elves. Just two days previously, Arwen and her charge Frodo the hobbit, had narrowly escaped the clutches of the Nazgûl. And now the one ring, that which was the root of all war and unease of the last age, was here in his kingdom. 

With a grunt, and a thump of his foot, Elrond stood tall, and left to greet the elven prince.

********** 

Legolas paced. 

It was something he rarely did. 

He was a being of endless patience, and whether he was vexed or not, it was not in his nature to reveal his disquiet. He stood outside a large oak door. The hallway was warm, awash in soft gold and rustic colours and wrought iron. Candles gave weak light and softened the edges of the furniture. In fact, the entire place seemed at peace, save Legolas himself. He feared for the fair elf maid, feared he had not done enough, feared she would die, feared he would never even know her name. Elves were not born to die. Yet he was powerless to stop it. And so, the troubled Prince of Mirkwood paced. 

"Legolas?"

Legolas stopped and turned. Before him Elrond stood, tall and yet weary. Smiling with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, Legolas walked over to him and clasped the other elf's hand, bowing slightly as he spoke.

"Lord Elrond. I bring greetings from my father, Thranduil. Too long sir, has it been since I walked these parts." Elrond smiled at this.

"It is good to see you Legolas Greenleaf. Though I wish it were different circumstances that bring you here this day. Strange times we are in now." 

Legolas relaxed slightly. Rivendell was the only place where people addressed him by his Common Tongue name. He watched as Elrond seated himself on one of the upholstered sofas opposite the large oak door. He wore a rich red cloak over a beautifully embroidered burnt umber tunic. His long dark locks were drawn behind his ears but for two plaits. He wore no crown. But he did not need one for, though he carried many burdens and worries, he carried himself with the air of a true leader. 

"How is she?" The question drew Legolas from his thoughts.

"I know not. I await here for news. It has been two hours. I fear the worst." Legolas resumed his pacing.

Elrond watched as the soft candlelight glinted against the silver woven through Legolas's longbow. The elven Prince had yet to remove it from his back. In fact he still wore his travelling clothes. Elrond saw that they were heavily stained in blood. Most likely the elf maids, he surmised.

"Will you not go and rest Legolas. I shall alert you when the healers are finished."

"I would rather stay. I am not tired but for the weariness brought on by worry."

Legolas stopped and faced Elrond.

"How long have there been Úlairi near Rivendell?" 

Elrond told him briefly of Arwen's encounter two days previously. Then he told him of the Ring. 

"This is grave news. Although it does explain why my father thought it so urgent. Truly it is grave news."

Elrond relaxed into the seat and steepled his long, slim fingers. Legolas sat now, as he considered the implications of this knew knowledge.

"Aragorn is here. Lord Celeborn of the Golden Wood arrives tonight. Gimli, son of Glóin of the Dwarves of Erebor, and Boromir Steward of Gondor arrive tomorrow."

Elrond gaze wandered, aimless, as he spoke.

"The Ring, and what shall be done with it, will be decided by representatives of all the free peoples of Middle Earth."

Legolas merely nodded. They sat in silence for a long while. Though it was not an uncomfortable silence. Both had a great many things weighing on their minds and both knew that the near future would hold little such calm in which to think. 

The creaking oak door opened and both were instantly roused. They stood as a tall healer stepped out and bowed solemnly to both elves. 

"The elf maid lives. She is greatly weakened. And I am loathed to inform you sirs that she has been beaten quite badly. She is weakened by malnourishment and thirst." His eyes filled with a sorrow born out of sympathy.

"She is awake?" Elrond spoke softly, his eyes cast downward.

"She is Lord Elrond. She does not speak, and may remember little." 

Elrond nodded and proceeded past the healer into the room. Legolas followed, mumbling his thanks as he passed the healer.

The strong scent of Athelas greeted him as he entered the bright room.

The nameless elf maid lay on the bed. A pale yellow bolster propped her up. Her mid-section was exposed and Legolas could see much bruising and scarring aside from that of the arrow wound. The wound itself was heavily dressed, and still blood spotted the centre of the muslin bindings.

Elrond walked around to one side of the bed and sat. Legolas stood over her at the other side. Suddenly aware of their presence, her eyes fluttered weakly open. Legolas smiled gently as he crouched down beside her. 

"Welcome to Rivendell." Elrond's voice was soothing and comforting. 

He leaned forward slowly as he spoke.

"Do you know how you got here?" Her eyes flickered slightly toward Legolas. Her voice was weak, parched.

"No." She whispered, wincing as though the very effort of forming the word hurt. 

Legolas spoke then, smiling and willing some of his strength to her.

"What is your name?" 

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words did not come from her, but rather from behind them.

"Nephryn?" 

Arwen Evenstar stood in the doorway, her face pallid at the sight of the elf maid. She leaned weakly against the frame. She still wore her tracking clothes, and her long deep brown hair was pulled away from her face.

Elrond stood and took his daughters arm and led her to the chair outside the room, closing the door in his wake.

Legolas frowned, beset by confusion. Who was this mysterious elf that Lady Arwen recognised her even in this state. The Elf Prince was certain that, never during his many visits to Rivendell, had he ever met this elf.

As he turned back to the injured elf, he saw that she held her hand to her mouth. Her eyes were closed and tears had welled up and clung weakly to her lashes. He reached out his hand to hers tentatively. 

She started at the contact and the tears tumbled freely as she opened her eyes. 

"Êl eris e môr... êl síla... I am safe!" A star rises out of the darkness... a star shines

She mumbled the words softly, mouthing what would not sound. Legolas clasped her hand.

"You are Nephryn?" He pressed as he entwined her slender fingers in his. 

She blinked and nodded once. 

"Nephryn, daughter to Elwë and Melkor." She whispered as she strengthened her grasp on his hand.

"And you have saved me. Thank you." Legolas sighed in relief. Whatever tortures she had suffered, they had not taken her memory. Whether it was a blessing or not remained to be seen.

********** 

For a long time, Arwen Undomiél sat silent. The colour had returned to her face and yet she sat, staring at her clasped hands. Releasing a deep breath, she allowed her head to fall forward to her fathers shoulder. 

Elrond reached up, stroking his daughters bound hair.

"Are you certain that it is Nephryn?" 

"Yes." Arwen found her voice, but felt as though she sat now outside of herself. 

Truly, Elrond thought, this must be difficult for her. She sat up again and gazed at the door to the healer's room, as though she could see right through to the far side.

Nephryn had been understudy to Galadriél, Lady of Lothlorién and Grandmother to Arwen. She had been Arwen's closest friend, until she was seized by Orcs. That was two years ago. Arwen kept up hope and vigil at Lothlorién for months after. During those months, she saw neither Elrond nor Aragorn even once. Finally, she resigned herself to the likelihood that Nephryn, her closest friend and would-be sister, was gone. Hitherto, Arwen carried that sorrow with her. 

Despite her certainty that the injured elf was indeed her lost friend, she seemed plagued by doubt, as though all this was some eerie dream. 

"How can it be? The Dark Lord Sauron does not take prisoners! And even if he were to, why Nephryn? She holds no knowledge that could benefit him!" She raised her voice to the point of hysteria. When Elrond reached out to her, she retreated. 

Sucking in a deep, cleansing breath, she tried to compose herself.

"Where is Aragorn?" 

Elrond frowned, aware that this cool appearance was merely a façade to hide her confusion. However, the steady soothing presence of Aragorn was probably what she most needed now.

"I believe he is with Frodo and Gandalf." Arwen nodded and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to her father's forehead. 

She walked down the hallway, and turned to him before rounding the corner.

"I shall return presently. Do not fear for me." It was as though she could read the lines of worry on Elrond's face. And yet, her words did nothing to comfort him, for even in the dim candlelight, his keen elven eyes caught the tears that welled in her eyes. The only reason he had not seen them before then, was because she felt it necessary to be composed before him. It was Arwen's way. But her father was not comforted by it.

Minutes later, Legolas appeared and closed the door gently behind him. Elrond's weary expression caught his attention immediately.

"She sleeps. And she remembers." Legolas sat slowly next to the elf lord. Gently he placed his hand on Elrond's shoulder.

"Are you well, my friend?" Elrond broke out of his reverie, and nodded his answer.

"And the Lady Arwen?" The Lord of Rivendell hung his head: he could not answer for truly, he did not know.

**********

Gandalf the Grey sat back in a comfortable chair. At least in Rivendell he mused, most things accommodated his size. Standing taller than most elves, and twice or three times the height of hobbits, Gandalf of the Istari found that a great many things in this mortal realm did not quite fit. And since the Valar saw fit to send him forth from the Undying Lands in an old man's body, even more was his body prone to the aches and pains of mortals. 

He gazed at the small figure in the bed. Poor Frodo Baggins was saddled with the greatest of chores. The role of the Ring bearer was unenviable at best. But the hobbit carried the burden with such determination that it inspired hope in his heart. 

Events in Isengard did not bode well for Middle Earth. While it was true that Saruman had not allied himself Sauron, he was neither allied to Gandalf and the free peoples. Instead he coveted the One Ring for himself. No, now it had merely changed from a war waged between two sides, to a war waged among three. Surely that did not ease their task.

Gandalf sighed audibly.

"Surely Gandalf the Great is not fatigued?" The voice came from behind, and the wizard did not need to see the speaker to identify him. There was only one man in all of Middle Earth that addressed him as Gandalf the Great instead of Gandalf the Grey.

Strider treaded softly into the room and sat opposite the wizard. He nodded his head in greeting. 

"How fares Frodo?" The hobbit still carried a fever, but the worst had subsided. Elrond himself had tended to him in the darkest hours. Truly, he was in good hands here. 

"He will recover soon enough. Perhaps is just as well that he gets this opportunity to rest, for there will be little such time in the future." Gandalf's sombre tone alluded to more than he was saying.

Such allusions were not over Aragorn's head and he pushed for detail.

"You did not fare well at Isengard?"

Gandalf did not respond momentarily. He merely gazed out the window, toward Mordor.

"Saruman has fallen into darkness." Aragorn exhaled audibly, for clearly this news was unexpected. The Istari was right. Surely things were worsening now.

He was drawn from his morose dwellings by a soft knock on the door. Arwen Evenstar pushed open the door. Her blue eyes were drawn and swollen, her hair still bound. Strider stood and embraced her quickly. 

He was relieved that she had returned so soon, but she appeared quite distraught.

He kissed the crown of head, and murmured into her hair.

"What is it, my love? Are you well?"

"No." The solitary word was followed by silence. Aragorn lead her outside, nodding briefly to Gandalf before he closed the door. Arwen was silent as he brought her to the gardens. 

He removed his green cloak, and placed it on the soft, lush grass. 

He pulled Arwen down nest to him, and kissed her temple as he gently began to release her long hair from the strong, red leather clasp. 

"What ails you, my sweet?" She simply stared out toward the foot of the Misty Mountains.

"Nephryn is alive." She spoke in a low voice. She turned to Aragorn and a small smile broke the gloom.

"She lives. After two long years, my lost sister lives." 

"How?" And so Arwen told him briefly of her remand with the Orcs.

Aragorn hoped that he looked as surprised as he felt, for he was quite stunned. Never had he had the opportunity to be acquainted with his beloved closest friend, but still he felt he knew her. Arwen spoke often of her charm and intelligence. And so when Nephryn was lost to them, Aragorn felt her loss keenly. A part of Arwen was gone as was, by extension, a part of his own self. 

"Nephryn of Lothlorién lives!" 

As he spoke, the truth of the words struck him and a grin slowly emerged. Long had Arwen carried a profound sadness at Nephryn's loss, for elves were not born to die. He leaned over to his beloved and embraced her, pulling her to the ground. Aragorn watched as the clogs of her mind turned behind her azure eyes, pondering this strange turn of events. 

"Long have I yearned for her counsel and her company. When my days were darkest and I feared for your safety, 'twas then I felt her absence most." 

Arwen traced lazy circles on Striders chest as she spoke.

Finally, she looked up to meet his gaze.

"Do you think she will be different?" Her eyes betrayed the fear and worry that she did not voice. 

Truly, Aragorn could not say whether how Nephryn's stay with the Dark ones might yet affect her. In his own mind, he surmised that it could have done naught but harm, but for the sake of his beloved, he did not say this. Instead he settled for truth over speculation.

"I do not know." 

More pressing on Aragorn's mind however was why the Dark Lord of Mordor would even take prisoner. Surely, if Nephryn were a threat, Sauron would simply have dispensed with her. 

No, something was amiss here. And so he lay, with Arwen on the grass in silence, each lost in their own reflections.

********** 


	3. Arrivals

Nephryn Istriél lay quite still. She did not wish to aggravate her injuries. Nor did she wish to anger her keepers. She was safe from the White devil now. She knew this and feared him not. But keepers were keepers, no matter their kind ways. She was theirs, to do with as they pleased. 

She was three millennia here on this mortal earth, and every belief or custom she had acquired in that time was lost to the darkness of the last two years. The judicious part of her mind told her that Rivendell was the safe haven that she'd seen previously in torn dreams. It told her that Undomiél would ensure her safety, and that the mighty Lord Elrond would see no harm come to her.

But her broken body and the memories branded onto her soul reminded her of the danger of trusting those you believe friends. The White Devil had hurt her far more than terrifying Keeper of Mordor.

Nephryn bit her lip to stay the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her. Her side ached less with each hour, but she relished the sting of the wound for it reminded her that she lived yet. She traced a slender finger along the reddened scars on one wrist. She forced her eyes to stay open, and drink the blinding sunlight that filtered through the open windows. Too long had her soul been starved by the darkness. 

Her thoughts then strayed to the elf that had rescued her from the servants of Sauron. Truly, though she had been gravely injured at the time, never in all her life had she felt so safe as she'd felt in his arms. Her memories of the journey to Rivendell were fractured at best, but she remembered that his tender voice soothed her hurting mind and his comforting arms had held her waning hope above the surging tides of fear.

That fear born out of uncertainty surfaced in Nephryn now as she lay still on the bed. She yearned for the comforting presence of the fair elf.

The sound of the door rasping open drew her from her thoughts and the elf who had carefully ministered to her wounds now peered warily around the door. He met her gaze, and sought silent permission to enter. She nodded slightly and he approached the bed slowly.

"Fair Lady, your dressings must be changed. If I may?" He gestured to her left shoulder, which was wrapped in muslin strips that were soaked in Athelas. 

He pulled back the light linen tunic and began to remove the strips one by one, careful not to touch her skin. She averted her gaze choosing to stare at the delicate drapes that swayed to the gentle swells of the light breeze.

"By the Valar! What has happened?" The healer drew his hands back uncertainly from the exposed wound. 

Nephryn gazed lazily at it and her eyes widened at the sight of it. Gone was the deep gash that had been cut to the bone. The pain of it had worn her down and it had doggedly refused to heal. Now there was no scar but a blackened imprint, shaped as a circle with a cross through it. She lifted a hand to trace the line of it, but as her fingertips made contact with the impression it wavered and vanished under the pressure of her fingers, as though it melted into her skin. She frowned. Surely exhaustion played with her eyesight. She touched it again, and again the portion that fell under her fingers dissolved into the cream skin.

When she looked up, she saw that the healer had vanished. Perhaps he was frightened. May be he had gone to alert her keepers! 

They would come and release he into Sauron's charge or worse into 

the hands of the White devil. 

Without further hesitation, Nephryn sat up and swung her legs down off the bed. Her legs buckled under the sudden weight but fear instilled in her a strength that she did not know she had. She pulled her black cloak from its place on the back of a tall armchair. Wrapping it around her as she walked, she found that the stiffness and pain was gone from her left arm. So engrossed was she that she did not notice Lord Elrond appear at the door and in her haste collided with him.

She let out an involuntary yelp, as she looked up and drew back. 

"Nephryn?" Elrond stood stack still in the doorframe.

The elf maid shied away from the door and backed toward the corner of the room. She did not seem to be aware that Elrond was speaking to her. She muttered words even his keen hearing could not quite make out. He could not draw her gaze from the ground, and with every moment she waned further.

Elrond stepped closer and as he did, her voiced grew louder and more 

frantic.

"Ma tanae, ma tana ... I quetter y silri...I allantië... Aníron 

Legolas!" She was shouting now, her words broken by tortured breaths, as though her fear was a dead weight that anchored her to the sea bed. 

Elrond gestured to the healer to retreat outside the door.

"Fetch Legolas!" he hissed to the healer.

********** 

"Legolas?" The question was meant to stir him from sleep, but 

Legolas had heard the light-footed elf maid enter before she had opened her mouth. He stood and turned to greet Arwen Evenstar, bowing as he approached her. 

She quickly dispensed with the formalities and embraced him warmly. Though she smiled outwardly, Legolas could see the anxiety behind her smiling eyes. Too long had he known her, and too well did he know her to be fooled by her show of emotions. 

"It is good to see you Legolas Greenleaf. To long has it been since your fair face has graced these pastures." She stepped back as she spoke, casting her eyes downward.

When she met his gaze again, an embarrassed flush coloured her cheeks.

"I am sorry for the way I reacted this morning." Legolas smiled upon hearing the apology. So typical Arwen was it that she would apologise for her surprise.

"Arwen," he grasped her shoulders firmly.

"Your father spoke of your friendship with Nephryn, and he told me of the circumstances of her disappearance. Never in a thousand worlds could you have ever expected to see her again. I understand. You need not apologise for no wrong was done."

On hearing these words, she relaxed visibly. She lead him over to a chair and gestured for him to sit.

"Tell me Legolas," she demanded quietly, "did they hurt her?"

Legolas chose his words carefully as he spoke.

"I believe that her time at Mordor did not see her well. But in the short talk I have had with her, she seems immensely strong of character. I believe that if she can recover anywhere, it is here among friends."

Their brief conversation was interrupted as the breathless healer burst into Legolas's room. 

"I apologise for the interruption Sir elf! Lord Elrond deigns to speak with you immediately. The elf maid, sir, she is taken with a panic!" 

Legolas stood and followed the shaken healer with the Lady Arwen on his heels. 

********** 

As they approached her room, they could hear Nephryn's panicked pleas.

"...ma tana¢ ... I quetter y silri...I allantië... Aníron Legolas!" I am sorry...my keeper...I beg mercy...I have fallen...I desire Legolas!

The sight of her, hunched in the corner, terrified of her keepers, broke his heart and grieved his soul. Legolas could see from the anguished look on Elrond's face, that the Elf lord was at a loss. 

"Nephryn?" Legolas spoke softly as he approached her, showings his open palms, demonstrating that he intended no harm.

"Ma tanae ma tana , I quetter y silri!" Legolas could not see why she would beg mercy. What did she think she had done wrong? From what did she wish to be spared?

"No aníro silri, te nu nefrayr sîl" You do not need mercy for you have done no wrong 

Legolas spoke slowly and soothingly. She made no response to his declaration, but her breaths had slowed and she seemed calmer. 

Finally, she looked up and caught his gaze.

"Qai te me nefru, ma tana ?" What do you wish me to do Keeper? 

Legolas frowned at this. Where had she gotten the notion that they were her Keepers?

"Y se rabri, te I sîl tana mríl tio" It is not for me to say for you have no Keeper but yourself

Her eyes widened at this. She frowned and opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it again. She stood slowly and straightened.

"You would not cast my out of this place if I angered you?" She sounded sceptical.

Elrond stood out from behind Legolas and extended his hand.

"For as long as I am Lord of this sanctuary, no harm shall ever befall you here. And you may come and go as you see fit. There are no Keepers here, only friends." 

Nephryn's expression softened at this and she regarded his extended hand with curiosity. 

"And for as long as I roam these mortal lands, I shall stand between you and any further harm." The Elf-prince's words were spoken softly, though the promise was heartfelt. 

Legolas reached out and traced slim fingers down her cheek.

"Will you entrust us with your safety and well-being?" The question brought tears to the distraught elf-maids eyes and she bowed her head into Legolas's caress. 

"Yes." 

Nephryn allowed herself to be brought back to her bed and there, 

Legolas and Elrond sat with her. Arwen remained at the door, shocked to see her once steady and calm friend so gripped with fear. 

"Your healer wished to inspect this." Nephryn drew back her tunic to reveal the black symbol. 

Elrond's eyes widened at the sight to the mark and he leaned in closer to catch a better sight of it. 

Nephryn gestured for him to touch it and just as before, the mark disappeared when he made contact. 

"Incredible! And this was to there when you first tended to he Lady 

Nephryn?" 

The healer stood at the back of the room with Arwen when. He bowed his head slightly as he spoke.

"Only a deep gash that seemed to have existed for a period much longer that the Orc-arrow wound. That wound is gone and the symbol appeared in its place."

Elrond regarded Nephryn with sorrowful eyes, as he covered the mark with her tunic.

"Did Sauron abuse you often, or was it fellow prisoners who wounded you so?" 

Nephryn looked surprised at the question. 

"No Sir. You misunderstand. It was not Sauron who hurt me so. It is true that for near-on eighteen months, the Orcs imprisoned me at Sauron's instruction. It was cold and dark, and I wanted constantly for food and water and light, but they never abused me. I was taken forcefully against the will of Sauron to Isengard."

"Saruman!" Legolas breathed, anger and shock hissing in his voice.

"Saruman the White imprisoned you and mistreated you so?" Legolas was incensed but only the fire that flashed behind his pale blue eyes betrayed him. Long had Legolas believed that while most beings in Middle Earth had their flaws and foibles, only the Dark Lord of Mordor was truly evil. Now it seemed that the noblest of all beings, the Istari, had a traitor in their highest ranks.

"Long have we believed that Saruman has been corrupted by the lure of the One Ring, and this would have been unexpected had Gandalf not arrived yesterday. He brought news that Saruman covets the One Ring for himself. He even ventured to imprison Gandalf atop the tower of Orthanc." 

As Elrond spoke, Arwen approached slowly and seated herself at the foot of the bed. She regarded her wounded friend and saw that if she looked past the bruised skin, the dark circles, the painful thinness and the wary demeanour, she could still see Nephryn Istriél, beautiful elf maid, daring warrior, talented apprentice and dear friend. 

With every word that was spoken, Nephryn relaxed further. By midday though Nephryn remained quiet, great deal of mystery was resolved and the healer declared that his patient needed to rest. 

Dutifully, Elrond and Arwen stood. Though Arwen had yet to speak to Nephryn, she now knew what had happened and their time would come. As Legolas made to leave, the elf-maid tightened her grip on his hand. 

"Silri Legolas, te cuspi?" He smiled down at her fondly.

"Why? You must rest. And you are safe here now, no harm will come to you." 

"You have made me feel safer than I have felt all my life. I owe you my life and still I beg more of you. Stay, please?" Legolas could not refuse the impassioned plea from such a brave and noble being. And so he sat, her slim fingers entwined in his, humming ancient elvish melodies. 

Hours later, when the healer came to check on his patient, he found that she lay sleeping, eyes closed leaning against Legolas, who sat alongside her on the bed. Though the Elf-prince's eyes were opened, his mind wandered peacefully in Elven dreams for he had had a long journey and even the Great prince of Mirkwood needed sustenance and respite.

********** 

Gandalf the Grey studied the Elf Lord, who now stood before him, staring out the window at the Misty Mountains bathed in early evening sunlight. Gandalf had known Elrond a very long time. He had admired him greatly when Elrond had fought bravely under Gilgalad and watched as he had raised the orphaned Aragorn as though he were his own son. Truly Aragorn was a very blessed young man for he had not seen the hardship and difficulties that had forged Elrond Half-Elven into the great being he was today.

Yesterday Gandalf had arrived with the foul news from Isengard, and now he could see that the grave news weighed heavily on Elrond, but something else had happened meanwhile, for the Elf seemed newly troubled.

"Have you ever seen that symbol?" Gandalf knew that he referred to the rough sketch Elrond had handed him when he had summoned Gandalf to his study held in his hand. The wise Istari studied the drawing briefly.

"It is known to me I think, but I would need to consult the lore to tell its origins and meaning. Why is it you ask?" 

Elrond turned then from the window and looked Gandalf squarely in the eye.

"The elf-maid, who was rescued yesterday bears this mark on her shoulder, where once she had been wounded. It is magical, for it disappears when you touch it. I believe that she is inextricably to this Ring, more than any of us know yet."

Gandalf considered this as he studied the drawing more closely, tracing a long gnarled finger over the image. It did look familiar to him, but its significance was buried within the depths of his knowledge. The old wizard sighed, knowing that it would plague his thoughts until the answer revealed itself, and when it did, it would most likely be too late. Such was the way of this mortal mind.

"The elf maid is well?" 

Elrond seemed to ponder this as he walked over to his large oak escritoire. 

"She has improved mush since her arrival yesterday, but I fear that her mind has been scarred beyond full recovery. Just a few hours ago she believed us to be her Keepers."

Gandalf merely nodded. Silence sat like a damp cloud between them. 

Clearly, Elrond had more to say but it seemed that the Elf-lord was unsure whether he aught to. 

"It was not Sauron, who inflicted the injuries on Nephryn. Indeed he did hold her for a period of eighteen or so months, but though she was a prisoner, she was not ill treated under his charge. In fact, Nephryn only came to real harm when she was taken by the White Devil, as she refers to him." 

Elrond cast an eye on Gandalf to see if the Istari followed where this was leading, but if the wizard did follow he did not reveal it.

"Did she reveal who this White Devil is?" The wizard raised curious eyes to Elrond's face.

"The White Devil, who so badly treated the elf maid is Saruman the White. He imprisoned her at Orthanc." 

Gandalf the Grey paled visibly. On shaken legs he stood quickly and walked to the window where Elrond had stood before. There he leaned heavily on the sill as he tried to calm himself. When he turned, there flashed an angry light behind his eyes, the likes of which Elrond had seen earlier in Legolas's eyes. 

"Then it appears that not only has our former leader strayed from the path set out by Valar, but he has crossed over the another, darker path entirely." 

Through the angered words, Elrond could hear a great sadness that emanated from deep within Gandalf's soul. He was saddened at the loss of a once-great leader. He was angered that he had not seen this harsh reality before. He was ashamed to see it so bluntly evident that even the spirit of Maia was not enough to ward Saruman away from his chosen path.

"I will take my leave and study this in detail." The Istari walked hurriedly from the room, taking with him the sketch. Rarely had 

Elrond ever seen the great wise Gandalf so shaken. Undoubtedly this news was something he needed to mull over before he would discuss it easily again.

And so it was that Elrond finished his day, as he had begun it, alone in his study surrounded by uneasy thoughts. A great many things had transpired and none bode them well.

**********

Though it had been only mere hours that he his mind walked in peaceful Elven dreams, Legolas felt well rested, and the ugly thoughts and prospects that had beset his heart seemed to have lifted, at least for the time being. He realised that Nephryn slept still against his chest. 

He studied her then, bathed in the evening sun that shone through the open window. He was amazed to see that in only a few short hours, her pallid complexion had lifted and her skin was now a rich cream canvas, unblemished save for a few minor scrapes. Her eyes were closed, and her long lashes seemed to bow down onto her cheeks. The elf maid was entirely still and had she not been lying against him, he would have thought her lifeless, so slow and quiet was her breathing.

Slowly, so as not to disturb Nephryn from the restorative and much needed rest, he slipped out from behind her and stood slowly. As he gathered his bow and quiver, the door opened slightly and Arwen slipped in. 

"I thought perhaps I might sit with her?" Arwen seemed to be asking his permission.

Legolas smiled slightly and nodded.

"I am in need of some air and a meal. Perhaps you will stay with her 'til my return. She would be alarmed if she were to awaken alone." 

Without another word, Legolas left the room, closing the door quietly in his wake.

Arwen walked around the bed and sat in an armchair near to it. Curling her legs in under her, she pulled out an old, worn book. It was a book given to her by her grandmother Galadriél. It was to be shared between Arwen and Nephryn. Arwen would read the lore and the history, while Nephryn would learn the ancient chants and spells. As she fingered the scoured leather binding, she remembered when it was new. The smooth tawny leather protecting the smooth calfskin pages, stained with bright ink and beautiful patterns. It was the most exquisite gift she had ever received, more because it bound their friendship even closer. 

She was still lost in thoughts when she became aware that she was not alone in her fond memories. She looked up to see Nephryn's eyes open and staring at the book in her lap.

"I remember the songs." Her voice was low and waspish, her mouth barely moving as she whispered.

"It was our shared present. She delighted in seeing it by two minds so different." Arwen smiled at this. It was true that they took interest in different aspects of the book. While Arwen lingered in the charm and craftsmanship of the book, Nephryn immersed herself in its tangled content, for it was a book of the most ancient Elven lore.

Now Nephryn held out her hand expectantly.

"Will you show me your precious Rivendell?" 

Arwen took her hand, and slowly, Nephryn sat up and slipped her legs off the bed.

"Are you sure you are able?" 

But Nephryn did not need to answer. She stood, drawing herself to her full height. She stood slightly taller than Arwen and determination flashed in her emerald eyes. 

Linking arms, two of Rivendell's fairest maidens walked slowly toward the gardens. Silence enveloped them for a time, and Arwen felt that perhaps she walked not with a stranger, but a new friend.

"Are you angry with me?" Nephryn's question broke the hush, and Arwen looked directly at her, a small frown creasing her brow.

"Why should I be angry with you?"

"As I recall, the you asked to accompany me but I had wanted to be alone. As I walked away from you that day, I felt the hurt in your heart burn mine. I had always feared that you would remember me in anger, or that I would never have a chance to redeem myself."

Arwen stopped walking and turned to face Nephryn, taking holding her shoulders with both hands.

"You should seek no redemption. Never have been angry with you, neither in your absence nor in your presence. But I have missed your counsel and your presence keenly. You are safe here, and you are loved here, even by those with whom you are not familiar."

Nephryn blushed slightly at this, knowing that Arwen knew of her affection for the elf prince.

As they walked, Nephryn spoke haltingly of her time at Mordor and Orthanc, though she could not bring herself to give detail as to what had occurred at Isengard. Arwen listened without interruption, until at last the tears fell and the sobs wracked the elf-maids body. 

As she cried, Arwen led Nephryn to the pools, where she sat her down at the edge. As Arwen brushed out her long silken mane, Nephryn's tears subsided. 

"The White Devil told me on many occasions that I was the key needed to unlock the full potential of Eiritrî. I do not know what he meant, but he was quite certain that I knew, and so he hurt me and threatened me. But I could not tell him what I did not know."

"You must tell my father what transpired at Isengard, for there are a great many changes afoot in Middle Earth, and many may not bode well for us." As she spoke, Arwen wrapped Nephryn's hair into a chignon so that it did not fall past her shoulders. Then they stood and Arwen directed her to a pool where she could bath in private. She also pushed a bundle of clothes into arms

"I will await here for you. Do not rush."

Nephryn nodded and ambled slowly toward a copse of trees, and on the far side, she found a small, secluded pool. Slowly she stripped off her tunic and skirt and walked to the edge. The water was warm and clear, and as she immersed herself, she felt the bruising and aches dissolve. She did not resist the pull of the water and let her head sink below the surface. Her bound hair loosened and swam freely around her. She pushed upward and broke the surface, sucking in a deep cleansing breath. 

She lingered like this for an eternity, letting the water strip the smell and the feel of the last two years. Finally she stepped off and towelled off with her undergarments before slipping into a beautiful sea green gown with long fitted sleeves and a square neck. The bodice fell low on her small waist, and the skirt fell neatly to a small train. 

When she rejoined Arwen, the Elf-maid scolded her lightly, pulling back the hair that dripped onto the gown. She pulled her over to a small cluster of rocks, and sat her down while she pulled the excess water from her hair. Then she combed it through and braided it in a tight plait from the nape of Nephryn's neck. 

As she finished plaiting it, Arwen noticed how long her hair had grown. Nephryn had always kept it so that it fell below her shoulder blades, unusually short for an elf, but Nephryn was more concerned with the practicalities of it. 

'Why keep ones hair at such a length that an enemy can string you up with it' she had once said.

Even plaited, Nephryn's silken tresses now hung to her hips. Her neck was reddened and scarred, as though someone had taken a whip to her neck. Almost without thinking, Arwen traced her finger along it.

Faster than the Elf maids eye could follow, Nephryn's hand shot back and grasped Arwen's arm firmly, twisting it harshly as she turned to face her. Arwen pulled her hand back swiftly, crying out and cradling her injured limb. Almost as soon as Nephryn realised what she had done, she was back peddling and murmuring her apologies.

"Ma tanae, ma tanae... Undomiél!" Nephryn knelt down and dropped her face into her hands, rocking back and forth slowly. 

"Nephryn?" Arwen knelt down and placed a cautious hand on her stricken friend's head.

"There is no harm done. I startled you, and you responded only as you knew how."

"What am I that I would hurt even those who have saved me?" Her words were muffled and her breathing punctuated with quiet sobs.

"You did not hurt me. I am tougher than that. Tell me, who inflicted those wounds?" 

When she received no reply, Arwen pushed a little farther.

"Was it Saruman the White?" Arwen took the slight shudder in the elf-maid to be a nod. 

They sat like that for some time, while Nephryn's tears subsided. When she sat up at last, Arwen could see a tiny flicker of the flame that used to burn bright in the elf's green eyes. Nephryn stood then, drawing herself to her full height.

"I shall cry no more today. I have given over enough time to the anguish he has imparted. I will be fine."

And with that, she took Arwen's arm, leaning lightly on her, and the journeyed slowly back to her room.

********** 

Legolas was tending to his steed in the forecourt, when his thoughts were broken by the sudden and loud voice of Eirithryn.

"My Lord! I had searched all of Rivendell for you!"

"You could not have, for here I am." Legolas muttered. He quickly attributed the cynicism to the disturbing events of the past day. Calyn was dead. The One Ring resided here. Nephryn, the beautiful and long-lost elf maid seemed, somehow to be involved with this Ring. And Legolas still had diplomatic duties to fulfil. 

It appeared that Eirithryn had not heard his mordant murmurs, for he was still bowing, as though awaiting permission to speak. Legolas gestured that he dispense with the formality.

"My Lord, I would speak with you regarding the burial of Calyn. I am of the view that we aught to wait until we return to Mirkwood, however Yateesh informs me that it was Calyn's wish that he would be buried along the Andúin. What say you, my Lord?"

Legolas frowned at the prospect of deciding comrade's last rites. While Legolas was unaware of the departed elf's dying wishes, he did know that it would likely be impossible to arrange for safe passage of the body back to Mirkwood in any reasonable time. When he repeated as much to Eirithryn, the Council-member nodded solemnly in agreement. 

"I shall arrange for his parents to be informed immediately." With another sober bow, Eirithryn departed, leaving Legolas alone once more. 

As he cast his bright eyes toward the mountains, he could see the dying embers of the spring sun draw long shadows over the peaks and dips of the rocky land. His horse stomped a large hoof impatiently on the ground, scattering up a cloud of dust that glinted as it caught the light. Legolas smiled, patting the large 

grey stallion on the neck. 

He was about to lead take the horse into the stables for the night when a smattering of small figures of the horizon caught his eye. Raising a hand against the glare, Legolas watched as the group drew closer. His keen sight could make out four, perhaps five horses. Undoubtedly Rivendell was their destination, but their identity and their purpose were unknown. 

Reaching for his longbow and quiver, he mounted his horse and was about to depart when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You would leave us so soon, my friend?" Aragorn stood behind him, one hand shading his eyes and the other carrying a sword and bridle.

Legolas smiled brightly, as though seeing for the first time, for he had not truly greeted his long-time friend the previous day. 

"It seems I am not the only one who spies our unannounced guests." The elf gestured to the Striders sword. 

"Indeed I am going to greet them, but they are expected. Elrond has despatched 

me to escort the Lord Celeborn and his company here. Would you care to join me?" 

"It would be my honour. Make haste. My horse grows restless." Aragorn smiled and saluted loosely before retreating to the stables to saddle up. Within minutes, both elf and man were galloping through the outlying forests, making quick time toward their rendezvous. 

In less than ten minutes, the pair had reached the approaching group of visitors. Legolas could see that it was, as Aragorn had predicted, a company of ten, perhaps twelve elves. All rode white steeds, and wore customary robes of Silvan colours. Near as either man or elf could see, only three or four of the group were armed, bearing longbows and quivers. However if Lord Celeborn was among them, both Legolas and Strider knew that the elves would need very little in the way of weapons in order to protect themselves, for Celeborn was notoriously skilled in the use of archaic elven enchantment. It was by his hand and the equally skilled hands of his wife, the Lady Galadriél, that the last elven kingdom of Lothlorién was protected and maintained. 

It was clear that the elves were keen trackers; for as soon as they heard sounds of Legolas and Aragorn's approach they hand sent two of the armed elves forth. Aragorn spurred his horse onward, one hand raised in greeting as he approached. 

They spoke briefly and Aragorn gestured to Legolas that he follow. When they finally convened, Legolas was surprised to see that though the Woodland elves were his kindred, they were different in appearance to his own kind, the Wood elves. Their hair was slightly shorter and from their stature on the horses, 

Legolas thought them to be both shorter and slighter than his own kind. All had stunning green eyes and the fairest faces, but reflected a kind of hardened outer beauty that was more akin to the first elves, who walked from the Undying Lands.

Though he had never encountered Celeborn previously, Legolas could pick him out immediately from the twelve seeming identical elves. The Lord of Lothlorién had hair the colour of moonlight, swept cleanly away from his face. Though his face bore no mark of his age, six millennia of wisdom and experience radiated from his sparkling eyes. Truly, the elf did live up in appearance to all the tales of his reputation. 

"Lord Celeborn, may I introduce Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, son of Thranduil." Legolas bowed his head in deference.

"It is my honour, for I have heard much about you and your skill with the bow." When Celeborn spoke, the deep resonating timbre of his voice carried the sincerity of his words, and Legolas found already he respected the elf-lord. 

"The honour is mine. Come for a great many miss deeds have occurred in these woods of late. We should proceed with all haste to the protected boundaries." 

And so the company rode on quickly in silence. There would be time for pleasantries when they were all under the protective reach of Elrond and the Ring of Vilya. 

When they arrived, Legolas dismounted quickly, and dispatched one of the stable hands to alert Elrond of Woodland elves. Returning to his steed, he removed the bridle and lead the horse once more into the stables. When he returned to the courtyard, he saw that Elrond had arrived and he and Celeborn spoke in low tones while Celeborn's troop tended to their mounts. 

Aragorn came to stand beside him and watched as Celeborn nodded to Elrond. 

"Do you think that he has informed him of Nephryn's return?" Aragorn whispered softly.

"Nay, I do not know. But whether Elrond informs him now or later, Celeborn will find out." Legolas watched as the two elf-lords walked toward the gardens, still deep in conversation.

"I think I shall go and inform Nephryn myself. She will be happy to know that her true family are here now." 


	4. Formed Recognition

Reeeepppoooosssstttt!!!!!

Sorry, just expressing some of my unadulterated joy at finally ridding myself of that error that plagued my otherwise happy troupe of readers. I'm just not gonna bother mentioning her parentage - just ignore them cos that's what I do with mine and it works pretty well most of the time.  

Also to the person that emailed me (who shall remain nameless), I have watched the film and read the relevant portions of book 1 and in fact not all of the Nazgul were accounted for. Arwen says (and I quote) "I have been looking for you for two days. There are five wraiths behind you, where the other four are, I do not know…" Therefore I (ahem!!) didn't just invent Nazgul for the purpose of my story…

As he walked briskly through the terrace, toward Nephryn's room Legolas heard the soft flutter of female voices. He stopped and looked of the ornately carved railing to the garden below. There he saw Arwen Evenstar and Nephryn walking arm in arm. They moved at a slow pace and he could see that Nephryn still leaned heavily on her companion. From a distance, it was as though the two were kin, so similar in appearance were they. Nephryn stood slightly taller and slighter than Arwen, and her long raven tresses were tied back, but both had porcelain skin that glowed like the morning dew. Their bright eyes reflected acute perception and sharp intelligence. When they smiled, it affected their entire countenance. 

"So it is true that two of the fairest beings in all of Middle Earth do dwell here in Rivendell." As he spoke, both elves looked up, startled. 

"Legolas!" Arwen beckoned to him. Quickly, he joined them, as ghost of a smile on his lips. As he approached, he noticed that Nephryn had changed from the loose-knit white tunic into a gown. The garment hung lightly against her frame, and though she was slender by nature, he thought her too gaunt, the product he knew, of her long captivity. But the exquisite sea green colour of the gown lifted her pale complexion, and mirrored brilliant emerald eyes. He noticed too the fine bones of her neck and shoulders now so flattered by the clean lines of the garment. 

So captivated was he by this change, that he did not realise that he had been silent for too long until Arwen coughed lightly. Legolas smiled, as he shook off the spell that fell over him. He felt a slight flush creep up his face as he felt Nephryn's shy eyes smiling on him. 

"I bring news. The Lord Celeborn has arrived from Lothlorién. He confers with Elrond now." Legolas watched as Nephryn's expression lifted from a demure smile to a full grin. He was glad to be the bearer of her first piece of real good news. 

"I would like to speak with him if it pleases the Lord Elrond." The elf-maids pleading eyes made it very difficult for Legolas to refuse her. He did not know whether Celeborn had yet been informed of her presence. It would not be Legolas's place to announce her. As though sensing his dilemma, Arwen intervened.

"I shall go and inform my father that you shall be along to speak with the Lord Celeborn presently. I am sure Legolas would be pleased to escort you to my fathers study." 

Legolas nodded, gratitude shining brightly in his face. Arwen departed quickly, leaving the elves to walk at a more leisurely pace. The elf-prince offered his arm and Nephryn took it graciously. As they walked, Legolas could feel the bones of her arms protrude through her dress. His heart ached to think of the horrors she had endured. She stood here beside him, so weak and frail, surely a shadow of her former self, yet she was determined to walk with her head high and proud. He admired the courage necessary to be able to do that. 

"You are silent Prince Legolas. Are you well?" Nephryn's mellifluous voice broke into the guarded silence. He smiled down at her. He reached across, taking her hand in his.

"I am very glad to see you improve so quickly. And courage and dignity with which you bear your injuries has left me in your awe. When I first brought you here, I feared that I was too late and though I knew you not, I felt a profound sadness at the prospect of your passing."

Nephryn smiled at this. She placed her hand over his and they walked like that for several minutes. 

"I have lived most of my life under the protective wing of the Galadhrim, and before Sauron stole me away, I had no concept of fear or darkness or pain. Those feelings have been deeply instilled in me these last months and I feared that they had taken a part of me that I would never recover. I did not feel whole, as though a part of my soul lay wasted and trampled at Isengard."

As she spoke, she remembered the suffocating terror that threatened to drown her day after day, and a dark shadow came over her face. Legolas stopped walking and turned to face her, willing her to cast aside the fear she had born so bravely. Much to his relief, when she gazed up at him, he saw a renewed flash of hope slice through her revisited terror. 

"But you came and you banished the Úlairi who pursued me, and when you brought me here, you purged the fears I thought would live with me forever. You have made me whole again. For all this, I am eternally in your debt." 

He traced a slim finger along her cheek, smoothing over a small graze, much as he had done when he first encountered her. He felt no less trepidation now than he felt then, and he found himself wanting to protect her all the time. 

"You owe me nothing, for I believe the light of your presence shall brighten even my darkest days. You have already given so much, and you ask for nothing in return. Know that from now, I pledge my life that you will be safe always." 

They said no more then for there was no more to be said. They continued on their way, basking in the warm glow of each other's presence. 

Aragorn stood on the terrace, overlooking the garden. He had come to send Nephryn to speak with Elrond but he could see that an interruption would be most unwelcome. As he watched the pair, moving gracefully as one, he recognised the flame that burned brightly between them. A fire would burn soon from that small flame, and no amount of water would quench it. Such was the nature of love among elves. Aragorn knew, for though he was mortal, long had his heart belonged to Evenstar. Though his body was corporeal, the depth of his love burned so strong that it would blaze well beyond his lifetime.

* * *

Though the news of the One Ring would no doubt wear heavy on his mind in the following days, Lord Celeborn of Lothlorién felt as though a great melancholy had been lifted from his heart. It seemed as only yesterday it had been when beloved Nephryn had disappeared from the woods beyond the boundaries of the Golden Wood. When it was realised that she had been pursued and captured by Orcs, a great grief befell the Lady Galadriél and by extension, the entire kingdom. She had mourned the loss greatly, together with Arwen and Nephryn's parents. She had spoken often of the elf's great gift for weaving enchantments and bending the physical realities to her will. Though she was not her flesh and blood, Galadriél had mentored and taught the elf from a very young age. And while the Lady had never voiced her intentions to him, Celeborn had long believed that his wife was training the elf to succeed as protector of Lothlorién when Galadriél herself passed onto the Undying Lands.

And now, Lord of Rivendell, Elrond stood before him, informing him in a calm and measured voice, that only one day before, an elf-maid was rescued and brought to Rivendell, where she was revealed as the long lost Nephryn. The temptation to cry out in joy was tempered only by the knowledge that, while she might live, it was possible that all of Middle Earth would be in grave danger in the coming days and months. 

He walked over to, unwilling to force her to have to take another step. To Celeborn, it seemed that if she did not lean against the elf-prince, she would not remain upright. He stood in front of her; not wishing to crowd her for he did not know how she would react after such a prolonged absence. 

Nephryn seemed lost, as she stared at the elf-lord who had been the paternal figure for most of her adult life. He and the Lady Galadriél represented all the safety and warmth and comfort she had been deprived of by Saruman and Sauron. She bowed her head, in respect. Then raising her eyes to his, the warmth and care reflected in them was all the invitation she needed. She half-threw, half-fell into his embrace. 

Legolas watched, amazed at the transformation in Celeborn: gone was the solemn, enigmatic leader of a great kingdom. He was replaced by a gentle elf that shed quiet tears, as though his lost daughter were returned to him. Legolas saw, with some small measure of envy, how blindly and utterly she trusted Celeborn, and he longed for the day when she would trust him in that way. 

"Truly, Elbereth has seen fit to allay our burden of loss." Celeborn murmured as her held Nephryn gently. 

Nephryn cried softly at the words, as though the reality of her safety had only begun to register. For a long time, they simply stood there, in an embrace. Then as Celeborn felt the strength go out of the young elf-maid's body, he led her over to a long daybed, where she sat wearily. 

"If the Lady Galadriél were to die tomorrow, she would do so happier that you are alive today. She has felt your absence keenly and mourned your loss every day. As have I, as have we all." Nephryn managed a tiny smile through her tears at this.

"Every day of my seeming endless capture, yearned for the day when she would bestow upon me her light again. That hope sustained me through the darkest night and the deepest pain." Nephryn grasped Celeborn's hand lightly and smiled at him.

"I owe my life to the bravery and valour of Legolas, son of Thranduil, for I would surely be dead at the hands of the Úlairi was it not for his swift actions." She looked at Legolas and for a time, it simply beyond her capability to tear her gaze from his.

Celeborn stood, then and bowed deeply to the elf-prince. Legolas flushed at this, unsure how to react.

"The Lady and myself, the Galadhrim, indeed the entire elven populace is in your debt." 

Legolas bowed his head in response. 

"The honour was entirely mine. I was glad to help, as I am glad to continue to help." Though Legolas spoke to Celeborn, he could tear neither his eyes nor his mind from Nephryn. As she sat there before him, it seemed to both elves, that the world around merely faded away leaving only them and the flickering flame that burned between them.

Suddenly, Nephryn seemed to sway slightly in her seat. All three elves were before her as soon as she seemed to weaken. 

Elrond held a hand to her forehead and examined her eyes before pronouncing that the young elf-maid was simply exhausted, and that she needed lengthy and uninterrupted rest. Legolas offered to take her back to her room. Before leaving she and Celeborn embraced once more, the elf-lord promising to send a message onto to the Lady Galadriél immediately. 

Then Legolas leaned in and picked the slight elf from the daybed and left.

* * *

As he carried Nephryn through the maze of hallways, Legolas could feel her steady breath against his throat. Though she had looped her arms around his neck to better support herself, he could tell that even the few hours of activity had weakened her. She had no strength to hold her head up, so her forehead leaned against his neck. He could feel even through the layers of the gown, her ribs and spine protruding sharply, so much so that he frowned. 

"What is the matter?" Nephryn's voice sounded drowsy and detached.

"You need proper nourishment. You will need to improve your strength before you return to Lothlorién." He spoke to her truthfully because she would know if he was being untruthful. He did not know how he knew this, only that he was quite sure that it was indeed the case.

She did not respond to his words, not because she did not know how but because she was too weakened to care about anything beyond the next moment. Nephryn felt safe and warm in Legolas's arms, and she was unwilling to leave. 

When they finally entered her room, he brought her to the bed. 

"Please don't leave."

 The plea was so quietly whispered that Legolas did not hear her, but Nephryn was so enervated that she could not repeat it. She could not even lift her head to catch his gaze. So when Legolas made to set her down, she simply poured what little strength she had left into keeping hold around his neck. His understanding was instantaneous. He kissed her temple gently, and laid her down before sitting down on the bed next to her. 

As before Legolas lay on the bed, Nephryn cradled in his arms her head resting in the crook of his neck. Though she did not sleep straight away, as he had expected. He knew that she was awake because her shaking fingers traced the tiny embroidery on his grey tunic. She had barely the strength to keep breathing, so why now would she not sleep?

"Nephryn, why do you not sleep?" Legolas heard her draw slow breaths, as though she felt she had been found out.

"Will you leave me?" Understanding came quickly then. 

"Sleep now, I will stay until you wake, and thereafter until you ask me to leave. Fear not, for I shall not desert you." 

Within minutes, her nervous fingers stilled and her breathing slowed. After an hour, he moved her off his chest and onto the bed where he knew she would be more comfortable. As he moved her, Nephryn's arms unconsciously sought out the body that had kept her so safe and warm, and so when she was lying down, he lay next to her, cradling her head gently. 

As the dark night finally fell, Nephryn slept peacefully in Legolas's secure embrace. She had sought and had found the solace that had so long eluded her.

* * *

The kingdom of Rivendell awoke the following day to the glorious autumnal sunshine, which sprinkled its rays through patchwork cloud that rose leagues into the sky. The golden beams mingled with the rustic carpet of shedding foliage, leaving the secluded realm awash in tones of bullion gold and rich burgundy. Such was the splendour to which the inhabitants woke.

Lord Elrond sat on his balcony, basking in the warm morning glow. So peaceful was his beloved kingdom that if was difficult to imagine anything but the serene calm milieu, and he mentally shied away from the prospect of anything that would threaten this place. But as much as his mind would like to bury itself it the rustic glory, experience and long acquired wisdom told him, that to do so would surely spell doom for Rivendell, and might very well cast the rest of Middle Earth to the same fate. 

Today the last of what was to be the Council of Elrond were to arrive. The Men from Minas Tirith were to arrive, lead by Boromir, eldest son of Denethor, and steward of Gondor. Though Boromir would willingly partake in the forum, it was another matter, which had first caused Boromir to seek Elrond's counsel. Elrond only knew that the young steward sought guidance regarding a recurring and troubling dream. The Elf-lord knew not of the detail of this vision, only that I had troubled the man sufficiently that he was willing to make the laborious journey to resolve the matter. 

Due to arrive today also was a company of dwarves. Included in their number was Gimli, son of the infamous Glóin of Erebor. Altogether, the council would represent as many as possible of the free peoples of Middle Earth; Lothlorién, Mirkwood, Khazad-dûm, Gondor, the Shire, Isengard and of course Rivendell. The Rohirrim had been invited to join the council, but they had declined. Elrond wondered slightly at his own wisdom in bringing together dwarves and elves, and bringing the reigning steward of Gondor into such close contact with the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor. While such a mix of representatives could well cause fractious conflict, so important was the issue of the One Ring that it would be foolish to exclude any for whom it would have grave consequences. 

Deciding that the time for silent pondering was done, Elrond rose and left for the dining room. As he made his way there, though it was early, already there was a bustle in preparation for the arrival of guests, some of whom Rivendell had never met before. He entered the ornately decorated hall to find Aragorn, his two sons and his daughter already eating. Though they buzzed in conversation, Elrond could tell that the underlying mood was sombre, for all present knew the weight of the situation at hand. 

As soon as they became aware of his presence, his sons and Aragorn stood respectfully, in keeping with long tradition. Elrond smiled at them and waved them back to their seats. 

"My lord, I trust you rested well?" Aragorn spoke formally, knowing well that ever since the whereabouts of the One Ring had come to light, Elrond did not truly rest, for he was keeping vigil for any furtive attack Sauron would launch. 

"Alas, I shall rest easier when the dark threat has been banished once and for all, as it should have been at Dagorlad." Aragorn nodded mutely, for he too felt a burden of responsibility. Aragorn was the last of the descendants of the High-King Isildur, whose own weakness had caused the ring of doom to be lost instead of destroyed.

For a long moment, a gloom seemed to descend over the table, but for an interjection by Arwen.

"Father, let you cast aside your worries momentarily so that you may enjoy the hearty meal that has been prepared for you." 

Elrond nodded, smiling at this. Clearly, Arwen did not wish to speak of the dark subject further. She was no fool, she like her brothers and her lover, understood the power and wrath of Sauron. But neither would she exist in fear. It was not her way, nor was it the way of any of the peoples participating in this summit. Elrond knew that it all would readily agree to fight for freedom, than cower and await the dark terror. 

But bravery did not allay fear; it only set it aside for another time it. 

The breakfast proceeded with small talk. Elladan and Elrohir spoke of preparing to rendezvous with their arriving guests on the outskirts, while Aragorn spoke of summoning some of Northern Rangers to aid in hunting down any of the remaining Nazgûl. 

In the end, it was agreed that Arwen would accompany Aragorn and his fellow rangers to meet the company of dwarves, who were coming from the south, the caves of Moriá. Elladan and Elrohir would proceed and rendezvous with those to arrive from the east from Gondor. 

Three hours later, when the morning sun had risen to its highest, Elrond's sons returned with a company of a dozen men of Gondor. As soon as all of the group had gathered, one man, tall by standards of men jumped down from his horse. Elrond had never met Boromir, but it seemed that Boromir knew enough of Elrond to recognise him immediately.

Boromir steward of Gondor, walked up to the Elf-lord and bowed respectfully before him. Elrond allowed himself a small smile. Though he had seen and experienced the sometimes brash and arrogant ways of men, this man seemed to understand that there was no need for such a strident attitude. In his long lifetime, Elrond had only seen such understand in one other, and that was Aragorn, whom Elrond had raised as his own son.

"It is my honour and great privilege to finally meet you. Long have the people of Gondor remembered yours and Gilgalad's exemplary courage at Dagorlad." Boromir held out his hand in greeting, as it was the custom of men. Elrond shook the man's large hand with his own.

"Come! You and your company must tire from your arduous journey. A meal has been prepared and we have arranged for accommodation for all your men." Elrond lead the way back to the largest building.

An hour or so after the men of Gondor had eaten, all had gone to rest save Boromir, who now stood before Elrond. They had relocated outside, to the large terrace outside Elrond's study. Elrond sat and studied the man as he paced the length of the terrace. 

He was tall for a man, though not quite matching the height of Aragorn. His dark hair was roughly cut to shoulder length and he wore a beard. This was peculiar to Elrond, for elves by their nature bore no facial hair other than eyelashes and eyebrows. The man's eyes were a grey-blue hue, the outer iris flecked with gold. They darted nervously back and forth. Most certainly, there was something plaguing this man's mind.

Boromir's clothes were dark leather and heavy wool, without adornment except for a single broach that tied his cloak. These were the clothes of a warrior, practical and comfortable. He carried a large sword on his hip, and Elrond could the outline of a dagger at the hem of his boot. Elrond was certain that, whatever else the man was, he was a assured and capable warrior.

"I have come to speak to you of a dream, which has invaded my thoughts for too long now. I do not believe it to be a coincidence with all that is unfolding at Mordor."

The words that broke the silence surprised the Elf-lord, for the strong warrior before seemed truly worried.

"What is it that comes to you in such a troubled dream?"

"In the dream I see the eastern sky grow dark, but in the west a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: 'your doom is at hand: Isildur's bane is found!' But this does not make sense to me, for surely if Sauron had the One Ring, he would have overrun all of Middle Earth by now."

Elrond nodded gravely at the truth of the man's words. But he wondered whether to tell Boromir now of the whereabouts of the Ring, or to wait until the council convened. Boromir was a man, just a Isildur had been. Men were by their nature flawed, and even the great Isildur, High King was not spared from the lure of the power of the Ring. His will had not been strong enough, so what then could the Elf-lord expect from the Steward of Gondor. He did not know, but he felt an obligation of truth. It the truth was withheld now, it would be all the more difficult to unite later.

"Sauron does not have the Ring." At this Boromir looked up and stared at Elrond, as though he knew what was coming next.

"The One Ring resides here, at Rivendell. It was found by a hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, and it was brought here by the hobbit's  nephew Frodo Baggins."

Boromir did not appear to react to this news, but behind the man's cool eyes, Elrond could see a myriad of emotions burn bright: shock, fear, joy, yearning.

"Does Sauron know of its whereabouts?"

"I believe so. Frodo Baggins was set upon by Ringwraiths three days ago. And two days ago, a young elf-maid barely escaped with her life for she too was pursued by the Úlairi"

Elrond stood then and walked over to the ornately carved railings, gazing out over the land. He decided then that Boromir should know the full extent of what had occurred.

"It seems also that the great leader of the Istari, Saruman the White, has been corrupted by the lure of the Ring. I believe that it is only a matter of time before it is found. Rivendell is no match for the combined force of Saruman and Sauron."

Boromir saw the underlying warning: if Rivendell was not safe then nowhere was. 

"I understand then was you convened this meeting. Clearly some course of action must be decided upon to keep the Ring out of evil hands."

Elrond's expression remained unchanged, but in his mind he saw the response as a true mark of the man's attitude. Though the bane of Isildur had plagued his dreams, Boromir thought only of keeping the Ring away from Sauron, and not of destroying the curse forever. Though thousands of years had passed, it seemed that the men of Gondor had not yet learned from the failings of those who had gone before. Nevertheless, the Elf-lord did not speak of it.

"I will leave you now to gather your thoughts. There will be a great deal of discussion tomorrow. I believe that our answers lie there." With that, Elrond departed, leaving Boromir with only his thoughts.

* * *

Legolas had awoken some hours previously. He could see from his vantage out the window that it was near midday now. And still Nephryn slept, nearly fourteen hours now. She had not woken during the night, and to Legolas she seemed at peace, though how long or whether this peace would sustain, he did not know. 

Though he was wide awake, he was very comfortable, and did not wish to leave her side until she opened her eyes. In the gardens below, he could hear loud voices conversing. He did not readily recognise them, and thought that it was unlikely that the raucous, gruff voices belonged to elves. Perhaps some of Elrond's anticipated guests had arrived. 

Their voices grew suddenly louder, as though they were arguing, and then there was yelling, like nothing ever heard at Rivendell. The sounds were better suited to an unctuous, decrepit watering hole than one of the last remaining Elven havens. As the yelling persisted, Nephryn shifted in his arms, moaning at the disturbance of her quiet slumber. 

Without warning one voice towered above them all, ordering them to desist. Nephryn awoke, startled. Her eyes went to the window, from where the disturbance emanated. She blinked sleepily and her hands sought out his, in search of silent comfort.

"Do not fear. I believe Elrond's guests have arrived." 

Nephryn turned to him, her jade eyes sparkling with renewed energy.

"I am not afraid. You are with me, just as you promised. I have nothing to fear." She spoke softly and evenly, as though she was reciting a mantra. Her hand went to his cheek, and she caressed his face lightly with the tips of her fingers.

"So kind. And fair." She whispered, as she gently traced the contours of his face. The noise from beyond the window had vanished, and Legolas found himself lost and drowning in her liquid eyes. He stared as her face drew into a small smile.

"Do you care for me, Legolas?" The question surprised him, but he could see the sincerity plainly written in her demure expression. 

"More than I comprehend. You deserve so much more than I could offer. I do not understand this bond that has grown so quickly and so strongly, but I do know that more than I hate to be parted from you, I dread that you will fall in harms way." Nephryn's heart was lifted by this, for she too felt that, though they had only met two days previously, a bond had formed instantly and it strengthened every moment they were together.

"I do not know what I have done to deserve you Legolas. I do not understand. But I do not care."   

Gently, he grasped her hands, holding them between his own and drawing them to his lips. He placed the lightest kiss on each grazed knuckle, and then leaned forward pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. 

"Do you feel improved? For you were struck with a deep exhaustion last night." 

"I feel as though I could sleep for another hundred years, but I cannot spend another moment here. The sunlight and the clear air do beckon. I need to feel the warmth on my face and the breeze in my hair."

Legolas stood up and stretched, before extending his arm to Nephryn. They walked together toward the door. As she passed the mirror on the bureau, Nephryn caught the image of her reflected self. She stopped and stared at the wan being in the mirror. A hand flew to the smell scratches on her cheek and a tiny slit on her pale lips. 

"I cannot present myself like this if there are visitors about." She whispered brokenly, as though she had never seen the injuries.

Legolas saw the expression of disdain on her face, but was at a loss as to what he could do. There was little he himself could do.

"Wait here. I shall return." Legolas left Nephryn staring, hypnotised by the reflection. Minutes later, he reappeared, knocking softly on the door as he entered. Nephryn was sitting on the bed, drinking the sunlight that broke through the white linen drapes.

"Nephryn?" She turned around and smiled, squinting in the brightness.

"I have brought someone to help you change and dress." Legolas pushed the door open and ushered a young elf-maid into the room. She bowed lightly and approached the bed slowly. 

"I will leave you now. I will be in the gardens when you are ready." With that Legolas inclined his head slightly and left.

The elf-maid walked over to Nephryn, and gently titled her head towards her. 

"I am Serutîl. The elf-prince said that you required some assistance." 

"Can you perform miracles?" Nephryn responded brokenly. "I am bruised and battered and unfit to seen by anyone."

It was true; Serutîl could see the bruises on her face and shoulders. No doubt they had discoloured and become more visible as she healed. But they took very little from the elf's astounding beauty. Though beauty was simply another facet of the elven existence, Serutîl saw that this elf was truly stunning. 

"A little arnica, I think for the bruises, and an Athelas salve for the cuts. Then we shall change your dressings." 

Serutîl set to work quickly, pulling several vials from her pocket. Using a small linen gauze, she applied the arnica balm to the extensive bruising along the elf's collar bone and throat. When the contusions were covered in a slick film, she went to the basin and soaked a washcloth in boiling water and held the hot compress to the affected areas. She instructed Nephryn to hold the steaming compresses in place, while she set about mixing the Athelas into a soft poultice. 

"This may sting slightly." She warned as she used her fingertips to smear the salve over the long scratches on Nephryn's cheek, and the deeper slit on her upper lip. If it hurt, Nephryn did not show it. 

"The Athelas will soak in quickly and draw the wounds closed. Now, if you don't mind, I shall change the dressings on your wound." 

Mutely Nephryn removed the loose tunic, leaving only a small, sleeveless shell to cover her. As Serutîl removed the old bindings, she saw the full extent on Nephryn's wounds. Bruises were smattered over most of the visible skin, some were older and tinged with yellow, while others, mostly on her upper torso, were newly formed, a deep angry purple, tinged with red where the skin was nearly broken. 

Nephryn caught her staring and hung her head in what appeared to be embarrassment.

Gently, Serutîl tipped her chin up so that she could see her face. 

"You have nothing that will not heal, and you should feel no shame, for you have surely survived what might have destroyed many others. You are strong and brave. Do not hide it behind these marks."

She redressed the wound quickly, and only noticed the black marking on the elf's shoulder as her helped her put on an light robe. She paid little attention to it, and attributed the slight undulation in the symbol to a trickery of light.

When Nephryn was dressed, Serutîl led her to the bureau and sat her down in front of the mirror. Nephryn smiled at the reflection now, for much of the bruising was hidden and the scrapes had faded to a rosy pink tone. Serutîl began to unbraid the elf's long tresses, and when the braids were removed, she began to brush it out. It shone in the morning sunlight and fell around her in soft waves. 

"Beautiful!" Serutîl murmured under her breath. 

"Come!" She held her hand out to Nephryn. "I believe a certain Elf-prince awaits you presence in the gardens."

* * *

Legolas sat on a long branch, which bowed deeply out onto the fast moving river Bruinen. The gush of white water flowing at the foot of the great Misty Mountains soothed his mind, and calmed his body. The seeming loud sounds of the newly arrived guests had faded away, and Legolas was content to sit in silence. While he might be content to sit, it seemed that someone else did not want it to be.

Legolas heard the heavy footfalls above the din of the surging currents, and turned toward the unwanted interruption, before the stranger was even aware that he had been seen. Legolas could see now that it was a man who stood below him, at the bank of the river. He leaned one foot on a fallen bough, leaning heavily against it. It seemed that he too sought to lose his dark thoughts in the crystal undercurrents.

Legolas jumped down from the branch, and landed with all the grace of a four-legged tree-dweller. So surprised was the man by Legolas's sudden appearance that in his hasty retreat, he almost stumbled into the river, but for Legolas hands flying out to grab the man's leathern tunic. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." 

"It is nothing," he replied, distrust etched onto his face. "I was merely lost in my own thoughts. I would surely have heard your approach otherwise." 

Legolas merely inclined his head, before turning to leave.

"Wait! I did not mean to be so rude. Please, I am a guest here. I do not know your name." Legolas squinted at the man. Clearly, he did not have much contact with elves before this for if he had, he would recognised Legolas as a Wood elf, and so also a visitor here.

"I too am a visitor. I am Legolas, son of Thranduil." He bowed lightly. The man returned the gesture.

"I am Boromir, Steward of Gondor and son of Denethor. It is my honour to meet you." So this was one of the company of men that had arrived from Minas Tirith. 

"So Legolas, you too are here for this counsel of representatives?" Legolas nodded, as they walked back toward the gardens. 

"Yes, I represent the Wood elves of Northern Mirkwood on behalf of my father." Legolas did not wish to speak further of the meeting for he did not know what Elrond had told him of the subject they had come to discuss. 

They walked slowly, in an uncomfortable silence. Legolas was about to speak when a soft melodious voice called his name. Legolas turned around to find Nephryn standing mere feet away. She was alone, but he spied the kind elf-maid retreating quickly into the house. Nephryn had changed into a simple sky-blue robe that flowed like around her like glistening water, pooling softly at her feet. It was drawn in low about her waist by a thin cerulean sash. The long sleeves hugged her slender arms and flared at the cuffs. Her hair was loose now, except for two tiny braids that held the silken tresses away from her face.

As he walked toward her, her face broke into a smile. As he reached for her hands, he saw that the bruising had diminished, and that her colour had perked up. 

His slender hands went to cup her face as he drew her close to press a tender kiss to her firm lips. When he drew back, he saw a faint blush creep up her cheeks, and she laughed lightly basking in the glow of his presence. Legolas had all but forgotten that they were not alone, until he heard a soft cough behind him. 

Pulling Nephryn gently with him, he turned back to Boromir, his wide grin dissolving into a more subdued smile. 

"Nephryn, may I introduce Boromir, Steward of Gondor. He arrived this morning. He will partake in the upcoming council. Boromir, may I present Nephryn Istriél of the realm of the Lady of the Wood." Boromir bowed deeply. When he stood, he grasped Nephryn's hand and pressed a firm kiss to her slender fingers.

"Truly, the most beautiful creatures reside here," He breathed. 

Nephryn smiled, for though she received copious amounts of flattery from all who had cared for her, this man was a stranger, unbiased in his opinions. She merely nodded her head in response to his kind words.

"Do you hail from this fair kingdom Nephryn?" Boromir queried, his tone bright.

Nephryn looked at Legolas, unsure as to how much the elf had told him. Legolas expression remained blank, so she proceeded with as much of the truth as she thought appropriate.

"I hail from Lothlorién. I was­- am an apprentice to the Lady Galadriél." Boromir smirked at this, as though scoffing at a joke.

Legolas frowned slightly at this, failing to see the humour.

"Something amuses you Lord Boromir?" The elf questioned.

"Merely that the myth of the Lady of the Golden Wood has long been recognised among the people of Gondor as just that, a myth. A fantasy conjured by a race of beings whose existence in Middle Earth dwindles." Nephryn's face darkened at this, and Legolas could feel the fury emanating from her.

Squeezing her hand faintly, Legolas held up a hand to stay Boromir's assumed truths. 

"You would do well to be cautious in how you ridicule another cultures beliefs and members. Whether you believe what you call a myth or not, is entirely up to you. Be aware however that when we meet, among your fellow representatives will be Lord Celeborn of Lorién, the myth's husband." Legolas spoke in a calm measured voice, determined not to let his anger seep through.

In his many years, Legolas had seen and met many men, and found that they were entirely too quick to readily accept any information, however unreliable or otherwise. Boromir had been so quick to scoff at one of the greatest and fairest elf-queens that had walked Middle Earth, in spite of the fact that he was a guest among elves.

Boromir recognised the underlying anger, and was immediately repentant, attributing his hasty assumptions to his lack of knowledge of the elven ways. While Legolas remained inwardly sceptical, he accepted the apology, as did Nephryn.

The three walked through the gardens, conversing on idle subjects such as the scenic views in the outlying areas of the Misty Mountains and the ornate elven architecture. Legolas deliberately slowed their pace so that Nephryn would not tire too quickly. He did not know whether Boromir had noticed that the elf-maid was injured. 

Their quiet discussions were cut short at the sounds of a crowd arriving across the bridge, into the courtyard. Legolas looked down, over the river, shading his eyes with a long slender hand. Nephryn did likewise.

"I believe our friends the dwarves have arrived." Legolas muttered sarcastically. Surely enough, lead by Arwen atop a large black mare, a group of six dwarves marched heavily. Aragorn brought up the rear, riding his own steed as well as guiding a troop of six horses. 

Clearly the horses had been brought along to hasten the return to Rivendell, but no doubt dwarves stubbornness had kept the six representatives from using them. And without doubt, they would later complain about the length and hardship of their journey from Moriả. 

Boromir made a move to go down to join the newly arrived guests, but Legolas placed a hand on the mans arm. 

"Perhaps you aught to wait until the dwarves have been settled into their rooms. They can be quite cantankerous when they are tired." Boromir saw in the elf's eyes that there was another reason for him to keep his distance, but he decided not to pursue it. 

"You are wise Legolas of Mirkwood. I, myself, am quite tired. I shall depart to my room, I think. I shall, no doubt see you later." With that, Boromir bowed his head and turned toward the house.

When he had disappeared from view, Nephryn turned to Legolas, frowning as she spoke.

"Why did you not wish for Boromir to meet with the troop of dwarves?" 

"Well it was not because they are grumpy, for you, as well as I know that dwarves are always grumpy." This drew a quiet chuckle from Nephryn, as she nodded her head in agreement.

"No, alas I did not want him to encounter Strider." 

"Why not?" Legolas considered his answer carefully. Perhaps he aught to wait until the convening of the council before Aragorn's true identity became known.

"I did not want them to meet because there has long been suspicion among the men of Gondor about the Rangers of the North." Nephryn's frowned at this, as though it did not make sense to her. Although this was not the true reason for Legolas wishing that they should not meet, it was not a falsehood.

"Why so?" Nephryn seemed as though she aught to have known about this conflict Legolas smiled at her persistent curiosity.  

"Rangers have long been regarded with suspicion by the very people the rangers protect. Their work is to keep at bay the evil spread of dark creatures of Sauron. Though many might ridicule the Rangers, of which Aragorn is a part, it is quite likely that much of Middle Earth would be overrun by evil creatures were it not for the persistent efforts of the Rangers."

Nephryn seemed to understand then, and appeared to leave the matter be for the moment.

Legolas knew that the two would meet eventually and there would be a great seal of suspicion and doubt, though not merely for reasons that he had given Nephryn. At least though, if Elrond were present, there would likely be less friction, for Elrond's wisdom in such matters of history and lore were widely accepted as trustworthy. 

"Come! We have spoken enough of that retched history. You must eat to recover your strength." He proffered his arm, and once more, they made their way into the house.


	5. Darkness Assuaged

As Aragorn trundled into the stables with the bridle and saddle from the last horse, he allowed his rage to vent, kicking a booted foot into a large bale of hay. It sent a plume of scattered straw across the floor. He sighed deeply and scrubbed one hand over his face. 

It was only two hours after midday, but he felt that a weeks worth of patience had been utterly spent. The dwarves had arrived at the rendezvous point three hours late. Aragorn had not minded, for it gave him a chance to spend some much-needed time with his beloved Arwen. When the dwarves arrived, they insisted upon taking a hour to rest their aching bodies. When Aragorn suggested that they ride the extra horses that had been brought along, the dwarves refused, making several unrepeatable comments about the worthiness of elven horses. When the group finally moved on to Rivendell, they moaned and complained the whole way there. Arwen had offered to take some of their baggage on the horse with her. 

Again they refused stating outright that they did not trust her.

Truly Aragorn was livid. It was only the Arwen's soothing presence and manner that had kept his dagger away from the dwarfs' backs'. It was beyond his comprehension why Elrond would seek to include them in this undertaking, for when last the dwarves were faced with the tasked with challenging Sauron, they fled into their caves, and buried their heads in the hope that when they resurfaced, the threat would have receded. But who was Aragorn to question the Elf-lord's judgement, for Elrond had a knowledge accumulated over millennia and the wisdom of a thousand men.

"You are very angry." It was a neither a question nor an accusation, merely an observation. It carried on the sweet sound of his lover's voice. He turned to see Arwen standing in the doorframe. She had changed her clothes, for they had travelled along muddy ground. Somehow, despite all the frustration and irritation of the morning, she retained that ethereal, serene quality that seemed inherent in all elven folk. 

There were many times when Aragorn felt that his own limited patience and tolerance was completely inadequate when compared with these qualities so enduring in her kind.

"Yes. I am angered at their rudeness and their stubbornness. I am angered that they would willingly let your kind fight their war and accept you hospitality so readily, only to insult your customs and offend your sensibilities. And most of all I am angry at myself for not having a self-restraint equal in measure to yours. For my short comings, I apologise most humbly!"

Arwen smirked at him, raising one eyebrow in response to his ravings.

"Are you quite finished?" He nodded, returning the same knowing smile.

"Good. I am glad that you have expelled that deep rage from you mind, for I could see that it has accumulated since we departed." She strolled over to him casually, and circled him slowly. She stopped when she stood side by side with him. Without warning, she tilted his face toward hers with her fingertips. She looked deep into his dark eyes, still flashing with emotion.

"You have nothing to apologise for. You hold my heart just as you are. If I yearned for the qualities of an elf, I would have fallen in love with an elf. I have not done so because it is your sweet heart that has so captured my own." 

As so often happened when he was with her, words seemed so utterly insufficient. There was no response to such a unashamed declaration, so Aragorn leaned in and captured her soft lips with his own, tasting her and breathing in her scent. 

As quickly as she had pounced on him, she drew back. Shaking her head disapprovingly, she held one hand against his broad chest, as though she was 

fending him off.

"There will be time enough for that later. You must wash and change, for we have meal to attend. Set aside your frustration with the Dwarves for the moment, and come and enjoy the company of friends, new and old."

********** 

Arwen took the offered hand of her beloved and they entered the large, exquisitely decorated dining hall together. Already the group of men from Gondor had gathered at the far end of the long table. In one corner, Lord Celeborn and her father sat, deep in conversation, though the remainder of the Lorién elves seemed not to have yet arrived. As they stood surveying the scene, Arwen heard the heavy footfall of what could only be the group of Mori_ dwarves, for no other beings at Rivendell could produce such a sound.

She led Aragorn over to where her father sat. Elrond and Celeborn stood to greet them. Both elves bowed formally in greeting and Arwen and Aragorn returned the gesture.

Elrond gestured to Aragorn with a smile.

"Lord Celeborn of Lothlorién. Aragorn, son of Arathorn." Celeborn smiled and extended his hand in greeting. Aragorn smiled in return, for it always amazed him how the elves made the effort to be aware of the customs of other races.

"I believe that you are also heir to the Thrones of Gondor. It is indeed a great honour to meet a descendant of the great Elendil." Aragorn merely inclined his head at the compliment. 

Sensing her lover's discomfort, Arwen drew the conversation to matters more 

mundane.

"Will Gandalf and the Hobbits be joining us, father? 

"I believe that Gandalf will, but Frodo is not yet recovered, and his companions rest with him, for they will not leave his side."

And so they sat, in companionable conversation, for long had it been since Arwen had last seen Celeborn, and longer still since Aragorn had met him. 

Not minutes later, Legolas and Nephryn joined them. Many in the hall stood upon their arrival, for to the dwarves and men and even to some of the elves, they were strangers, and so regal in appearance that it seemed some mark of respect was due. Legolas had donned robes of silver and green, and a wreath of wrought of elegant silver. Beside him, Nephryn stood, as though she was his beloved queen. Equally fair they were, but Legolas stood half a head taller next to Nephryn for while she was tall by the standards of Woodland elves, only Gandalf bettered Legolas in height. They seemed to be the perfect match to all who observed. Legolas in elegant green and silver, his hair the colour of white gold while Nephryn in blue, stood in contrast with her raven tresses. It was a sight such that elves rarely saw.

With a slight wave of his had, Elrond beckoned them near. When they arrived, Aragorn bowed deeply for although Nephryn had now spent neigh on three days at Rivendell, she had never met Aragorn and he had only seen her injured and insentient.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn- " He did not get the chance to finish his introduction for Nephryn had interrupted him.

"The last descendant of Elendil!" She breathed in awe. The whole group looked at her in surprise, for though all knew of Aragorn's true identity, it was had not moved beyond the five present, and they had faith that Legolas had not revealed the well-guarded fact.

Elrond raised an eyebrow and regarded her carefully as he spoke.

"Indeed it is true. But tell me, how did you know this, for long has this identity been well kept." 

"I did not know until now. During my studies with the Lady Galadriél, I was tasked with tracing the descendants of the last of the Numenoréans. I had traced the line to Arador, and some questionable records had suggested that he bore a son, who was known in by elves as Ethris. This translates to the Westron Arathorn. Therefore you, Aragorn are by blood the last descendant of Elendil."

All eyes were fixed on the Elf-maid, for it seemed that all, save perhaps Arwen, had underestimated the young apprentice. She had derived this truth where thousands, both elves and men, had failed. And though long she had suffered recently, her flair for lore and history had not diminished.

Arwen finally smiled, taking her friend's hands in her own.

"It seems that you great intellect has remained steadfast, for you have surprised the wisest and most knowledgeable elves of the Western Shores." 

Nephryn merely nodded her thanks, for she could see that though they were impressed by her deductions, they were equally aware that the truth was now divided and less guarded.

"I presume that this fact is not widely known, and that perhaps you would wish this to remain so?" She murmured quietly.

"We do. It will be revealed to all at the council in due course, but for now we believe that such knowledge, if it fell into the wrong hands, could put any hope of defeating Sauron into doubt."

Elrond spoke seriously, as though trying to impress upon the elf-maid the importance of the secret, but in truth something in the girl's demeanour compelled Elrond to believe that knew more of the current situation and its weight than anyone had told her. He trusted her instinctively, as he would his kindred.

"We shall speak further on this later. Come let us eat." Elrond lead his guests to the long table for the last of the visitors had arrived. 

As he watched the mysterious Nephryn, Aragorn knew that, had Legolas not accompanied her, he would never have thought her one and the same with the elf that was rescued days previously. It was as though her brief stay at Rivendell had revived the ethereal qualities in her; such as he had only ever seen in Undomiél and Galadriél. He could see now, as the fair elf-prince escorted her to the table, that she stooped slightly from her full height, as though protecting her wounds from further injury.

As he sat, he felt Arwen's hand squeeze his own. She smiled at him, and as though she were reading his face like an open book, she reassured him quietly.

"Do not fear that your secret lies now with Nephryn. I believed that it would only be a matter of time before she would guess or be told. She is wise and brave, and she will guard it as she has all the knowledge of Lorién, with her very life." 

Arwen's unfailing trust in her friend did ease Aragorn's fears, though his dread of the days ahead could not be fully allayed. He had lived all his life as 'Strider', or as 'Estel' the elven name bestowed upon him by Elrond. He was not sure if he was ready or able to live the role of a true and great leader, such as his ancestors were regarded.

On the far side of the table, Legolas regarded Aragorn's worrisome expression. Legolas knew that it was in part due to Nephryn's revelations, but also because of the upcoming council. Beside him, Nephryn leaned in close and whispered to him, her soft breaths tickling his ear.

"He may not believe in himself, but he has the manner and countenance of a great leader. He may fear his ability, but he has no reason to doubt himself." Legolas smiled at this, for he along with Arwen and all who knew his true identity could also see this. 

"Indeed, but long has Aragorn believed himself to be below many things, even before his true destiny was revealed to him. I do not understand it, for he is a fine warrior, and a man of considerable intelligence and knowledge." Nephryn's hand, entwined in his, tightened as she relaxed into her seat.

"Fear not for I believe that, when he accepts his fate and his ability to fulfil the tasks that lie therein, he shall be a King unlike anything the West has seen in millennia." Legolas looked at the beautiful maid on his arm as she spoke, and his saw the belief in her words behind her sparkling eyes, and heard the longing in her voice that that day would come soon. 

"Tell me, what other skills do you have that I do not know of?" 

Nephryn seemed to consider this question with more effort than it was due, as though it was difficult to address.

"I know many things, which might be considered talents by others, but that I regard as duties and inherited traits. I trained as an apprentice with Galadriél for most of my life. While she taught me ancient elven magic, I schooled myself in the history of the first and second ages, less for my education and more because it interested me. When her father sent the Lady Arwen to Lorién, we became fast friends. Though I never met her brothers, they taught her tracking and bow skills, and she in turn passed these on to me."

Legolas smiled at this, barely able to imagine the slight elf yield a knife, much less a longbow. Nephryn mistook his expression for one of doubt of her skills.

"You do not believe I am a skilled archer?" Legolas raised his hands in a gesture of retreat.

"Of course I believe you. Its just that in your current state, you can barely carry yourself, let alone armour and weapons." She nodded, accepting his observations as truths rather than a slight on her abilities. 

"Perhaps tomorrow, before the council takes you from me, we can practice." Legolas grasped her hands with his own, his eyes dancing with delight at the prospect of accompanying her on a track.

"If we survive the night, and rise in the morning, I will show you my weapons and we may practice." 

"I will hold you to that promise Prince Legolas!" At this he smiled, shaking his head at her determination.

"From you I would expect no less."

**********

At the head of the table Elrond, Celeborn and Gandalf sat in quite conference. Though the mood over the table seemed easy, there were wary glances amongst the Wood elves and the dwarves, and Boromir, though engaged in conversation with two of his own company, continued to cast a wary eye toward Aragorn. It seemed to the three that only Legolas and Nephryn seemed oblivious to the tense cloud that had descended above the group. 

"Nephryn appears to have improved quickly, astonishingly so in fact." Gandalf observed from his vantage. Though he had not spoken to nor even been introduced to the elf, he had observed her progress from afar upon hearing of the strange mark. The wizard had suspicions that the mark was more than just a symbol branded into her skin, for never had he seen an elf recover so quickly from a wound such as the one she had suffered. 

Indeed it had been such a wound suffered by Elrond's wife, Celebrían that had forced her to cross the seas to the Undying Lands. Gandalf concluded that the mark must have had some impact on Nephryn's rapid recovery.

He voiced these quietly to the two Elf-lords before him now. Both seemed to consider his theory carefully.

"It is true that she has recovered remarkably quickly. Frodo is still quite weakened." Elrond intoned in a hushed voice.

"Is it possibly that the presence of a certain young Elf-prince has had some impact on Nephryn's recuperation?" Celeborn gestured to the pair subtly as he spoke.

Gandalf looked observed the two once more. They sat side by side, and while there remained a respectable distance between them at all times, the elf-maid's fingers lingered, entwined in Legolas's own. They spoke in soft voices, the words of the one drawing a smile from the other all the time. Gandalf could see that Nephryn still held one arm close to wound always, but other than that she seemed completely relaxed.

"Certainly it could be the case that if a broken heart can kill an elf, the a broken heart restored could cure one. But while I have always been a firm believer in the power of emotion, I cannot ignore the facts. When she arrived her three days ago, you Elrond yourself believed that she would not survive the night, and yet here she stands before us." 

Elrond frowned at this observation and what it implied about the young Elf-maid. 

Was she not to be trusted? Surely the fact that she very nearly died at the hands of Sauron suggested that she could be trusted. Celeborn looked distinctly uncomfortable at the implied suggestions, for the young Elf was as a daughter to 

him.

Gandalf appeared to see that this line of conversation could be better pursued at a later time. 

"Alas, let us forget these dark thoughts for one night. The chance to so do is not likely to come to us again soon."

But Celeborn had one other matter to resolve before continuing. 

"Lord Elrond if you agree, as soon as it is deemed safe, I would like to send Nephryn back to Lothlorién. I fear for her safety here, for it shall not be long before she will wish to venture beyond your safekeeping again." Elrond nodded his head in agreement, taking a sip of his wine before answering.

"Though it will upset Arwen, I believe the elf's expertise and knowledge can best be put to use with the Lady of Lorién. The scouts will take a week, perhaps ten days to scout the way to Lorién. After that I will grant you as many as I can spare to accompany her there."

Celeborn accepted this with a deep bow of his head. 

They turned the conversation then attention to Bilbo Baggins, who was quite happy to amuse all the guests with stories of his adventures throughout Middle Earth. 

The meal proceeded long into the night, and there was no more talk of the Ring, nor of issues regarding Sauron. The dawn was broken when all had settled for the night. While interaction between most of the groups had limited, there had been no conflict. As he retired to his bed, Gandalf was greatly thankful for this, for in the coming weeks and months, there would likely be nothing but conflict and bloody war.

********** 

Before retiring to his own bed, Elrond summoned Aragorn to his study. He was seated in front of a blazing hearth between two carven pillars, when Aragorn at last arrived. Elrond had shed the glorious robes he had worn during the meal, and now seat in his throne wearing a light silver tunic. He had also removed the silver chaplet that he had worn. Though Aragorn knew that elves did not need sleep or rest in the conventional sense that mortals did, the wise Elf-lord seemed worn and weary as he sat. The flickering flames played shadows on his face, making the dips and falls of the fair-faced elf seem greater, and so older. 

"You wished to speak with me?" Aragorn spoke at last.

Elrond turned at the sound of his voice. Aragorn knew that the elf had heard him enter, but so lost in thought was he that his presence had not registered with the elf. With a wave of his hand, Elrond beckoned the man before him. Aragorn obliged and sat slowly on a chair opposite him.

"Though the council has yet to convene, I would like the Dunedáin to scout the route from here to Lothlorién tomorrow. Is this possible?" Aragorn nodded slowly, but the in light of all that was happening, it seemed a strange request. 

"It is possible start tonight if you so wish, but surely it is better to wait until matters have been discussed and decided at the council, for all who remain at Rivendell are safe for the time being."

Elrond nodded at this, but there was a shadow in his eyes that betrayed some other event that Aragorn did not know of.

The seeming troubled Elf-lord spoke at last.

"Lord Celeborn has asked me to send Nephryn Istriél back to Lorién as soon as it is deemed safe, preferably before the council is convened."

Aragorn considered this for a long time. Though he had spoken only few words to the Elf-maid, she seemed to him to be a being of great knowledge and intellect, for she had deduced that which had eluded thousands before her. If, however, Celeborn thought that Rivendell has not a safe haven for Nephryn, why too did Elrond not send Arwen with her? He voiced his question to Elrond.

"While Celeborn insists that Lorién would be safer for Nephryn, Gandalf also believes that the elf's rapid recuperation is linked to the Ring and the mysterious mark on her arm. Since she long dwelt under Sauron's thumb, Gandalf feels that her presence may put the security of the Ring at risk."

Aragorn looked anguished at the thought. "Do you believe that she is a servant of Sauron, sent to ascertain the whereabouts of the Ring?"

"No!" Elrond stood abruptly, as though to cease the words before they came.

"Far from it! In fact her knowledge and abilities coupled with the appearance of this symbol, may well be our salvation. Gandalf feels, and I tend to agree, that Galadriél could best decipher what her destiny in all of this is. Clearly she is implicated, for if Sauron had taken her merely to gain knowledge, he would have dispensed with her rather than hold onto her." 

Aragorn stood and bowed.

"I will prepare to ride come the morn. The scout will take two days. I will return in time for the council." 

"Aragorn!" Elrond's call stopped the man as he walked toward the door.

"For the sake of my daughter and for the fate of all Middle Earth, be sure to return safe." Aragorn nodded solemnly and departed. 

The glowing embers of the hearth had dulled to a sullen brown, and the chill dawn air lingered near the windows. Elrond now had the gravest of tasks now, for he must inform the young Elf-prince that the elf-maid that he had come to care so deeply for in the last days would depart Rivendell soon, and it was possible that they might never again lay eyes on one another. 

If it happened that the matter of the Ring could be laid to rest quickly, and without bloodshed perhaps there would be a reunion, by the likelihood of such a resolution was small. Elrond knew this, as would the intelligent elf. But if Legolas cared for Nephryn as deeply as it appeared, he would see that though the parting would be bittersweet, it was the best and safest course of action. If worst came to worst, and Sauron came to power again, Lothlorién would be one of the last strongholds to fall, and Nephryn would be safe until it did.

When Elrond arrived at the Elf-prince's room, Legolas was nowhere to be found, and when he checked Nephryn's room, he saw that she slept alone, in peace. As Elrond walked across the terrace, past the gardens, he spied the lost elf.

Legolas sat on a branch that bowed down into the Bruinen. So still and so quiet was he that Elrond would have missed him had he not been contemplating a walk through the gardens. He descended slowly into the peaceful grounds. The grey morning sky hung low over the mountains and the one tall peak broke through the cloud like tooth tipped in snow. Though light-footed and nimble, Elrond's approached did not go unnoticed by Legolas, for renowned was the prince for his acute and honed tracking skills.

"It is late for you Lord Elrond." Legolas spoke without turning to face him.

"Something troubles you, other than the obvious concerns of course, else you would not seek refuge from your own thoughts here at this quiet place." 

Elrond peered at him in the dim light. Legolas did not smile or frown and the accuracy of his observations went unseen to the elf. Elrond strolled over to him, standing now between the elf and the gurgling river, such that Legolas could now see Elrond's face. Though he did not outwardly react to it, Legolas could see plainly written on the Elf-lord's face that there was something that weighed on his thoughts.

"I would speak to you regarding Nephryn." Elrond spoke at last. 

"Celeborn has asked me to send her to Lorién when scouts return with news of the safety of the path. I am in agreement with his view that it would be safer for 

her there."

But Legolas, just as Aragorn, could not be fooled, and so Elrond had to recount to the elf, Gandalf's observations on the matter. There was discord written plainly on the younger elf's face. It was this that confirmed to Elrond that there had grown a strong bond between Legolas and the captivating Elf-maid.

"It is true that never before have I met anyone quite like her. When she is at her full health she will be a great asset in the war against the Dark powers. But I will miss her company greatly, though I do not understand why. Our time spent together has been counted in hours, not days or months. To elves this is but a moment in a single grain from a life that is measured in barrels. But I do not doubt the sincerity or depth of my feelings for her, but I cannot think from whence they came."

Elrond smiled kindly at the young elf, for in his many years Elrond had witnessed love, long and short-lived and truly the most eternal was that which was recognised in a moment. Such was the way for he and his wife Celebrían, though long had they now been parted by cruel fate, and it was the way for Aragorn and Arwen. 

"In my experience, the greatest and deepest loves are predetermined, and so those for whom it is their destiny do tend to know and accept it without hesitation." 

At this Legolas looked up at him in surprise and jumped down to stand eye to eye with the elf-lord.

"You believe that we are destined to be together?" Elrond held up his hand, trying to quell the hope that shone in Legolas's eyes.

"I believe that if your feelings are true, and I think they are, that you are destined to love each other. But you and I know well that that does not necessarily mean that you will be together. If woe befalls our cause, it is possible that you will never see Nephryn again, as will be the case for many. 

But let your feelings for each other sustain you through the next weeks and months, for little else will." 

Elrond started to walk away from Legolas, satisfied that he had convinced the elf-prince of what had to be done, when he stopped and turned to Legolas.

"You have one day, two at most. Do not squander this time, for it may be the 

last for a long time."

Elrond turned on his heel then, leaving Legolas in silence save for the soothing burble of the river.

********** 

When Boromir retired to his room, there was an immense weariness in him that weighed his limbs and clouded his mind. His long journey was finally at an end. 

He had found the mysterious Imladris and within the even more enigmatic Elrond. 

His strange dreams were given partial meaning, though he suspected that in the 

coming days there would be further explanation. 

The room was larger than that to which he was accustomed. He sat on the bed and began to remove his heavier outer clothing. He removed his leathern tunic and cloak, and removed they heavy steel-toed boots. He lay back on the bed and allowed a slow breath seep from his body. The tiredness that came over him was not a battle-worn weariness that was often accompanied by restless mind and limbs, but a feeling of comfort and well-being. 

Though the sun had risen and now cast pale yellow shades across early morning clouds, Rivendell, nestled at the foot of tall mountains lay bathed in an eerie light that was a mixture of silvery moonlight and pale gold of the Elanor bloom. There was silence interspersed with the murmur of flowing water, and in the background the clear sweet sound of elves in song. 

Boromir thought back to the various beings he had encountered on the day of the end of his long search. Elrond was truly the illustrious elf-lord spoken of in the lore of the fist and second age. Boromir found it difficult to grasp that Elrond had seen millennia of the history of the Western lands. He had fought beside the noble heroes of old: Gilgalad, Elendil, Isildur, Círdan. He carried with him the expertise and knowledge of thousands of years. And yet, to the stranger, he appeared only slightly older than Boromir himself. Time took no toll on his body, but behind Elrond's eyes of clear evening grey Boromir saw the memories of many things both glad and sorrowful. He was a king crowned with many winters, and no doubt when men repeated mistakes of old over and over, Elrond watched in pity.

Then there was his striking daughter Arwen, whose heart it seemed was captured by a mere mortal such as himself. Though they had never openly displayed their affection, Boromir's shrewd eyes caught the way they inclined toward each other. 

When they conversed, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. Not only in those too did he see this, but also in the mysterious Legolas and his beautiful companion. Boromir's shrewd eyes missed neither the way that their gazes locked nor the way the elf-maid carried her arm over some unseen wound. The Elf-prince appeared highly protective of her, as though she was frail or weak. As an immortal elf though, the elf maid was stronger than Boromir himself. It seemed that there was more to that particular pair than first met the eye.

He felt his eyelids droop, as though leaden weights were strung from his eyelashes. Unbidden eyes slipped closed and his mind wandered to the paths of dreams. His breathing slowed and his grasp on his dagger slowly released, though some rational thought caused him to place it near his side.

The silence and stillness of his being engulfed him and a spinning sensation began to take hold as his body stopped completely for the first time in many weeks. Images flashed randomly before his eyes, and though his unseeing mind caught them, his brain was slow to assign recognition to each image. Elves and strangers reeled madly through his brain, people and beings that he knew not of. Some were in the instance at which Boromir had first met them; elves in Elrond's throne room and courtyard; Arwen's unknown companion, with his dark eyes and suspicious air; Legolas and his Nephryn in the gardens. Without warning the scene shifted and his mind's eye fell on a single being standing alone in a hazy mist. The figure was tall and slender, shrouded in a dark unadorned cloak, appearing perhaps to be an elven maid. It turned to meet his eyes, and he saw that it was Nephryn, though she was alone and appeared heavily scarred as though wounded from battle. She looked down at her midsection and his eyes followed. To him horror he saw there a dagger, buried to the hilt deep into her abdomen. Her hands were awash with blood. When he looked back to her face, he saw that it had morphed into that of a seeming young boy. Much smaller he was, than the elf-maid, and he too donned the same unassuming cloak. Though Boromir could not see any wound, the boy's hands were stained with blood, but it was darker now, as though it had dried to a sickly burnt black on his hands. Before Boromir had a chance to glimpse his face again, in the hopes of recognising him, the small tainted hands clouded over, and when clarity returned, there before him were a large pair of steel gloves, as those that were worn in battle. They were shaped into fists and though it seemed that they were empty, as the slowly rotated, 

Boromir caught a flash of silver. As the gnarled armoured fingers uncurled, he could see in one palm the bloodstained knife and in the other a small ring that glowed as though the fire of the sun burned beneath it. Suddenly, the hand bearing the ring rushed toward his face. Boromir's mind imagined the searing pain that came from the steel hand that now glowed a white-blue. A scream rose up his throat, and only as he sat up abruptly, realising his whereabouts, did he manage to quell the reflex. A quivering hand went to his face, in search of scorched welts. The pads of his fingers found only rough skin, and as he licked his lips he tasted coppery blood from where he had bitten down in fear.

Boromir swung he legs off, and as he stumbled toward the door to the terrace beyond his room, he pulled roughly at the clasps of his tunic, pulling them apart as he struggled out of the garment. With a gasp, he burst out from the seeming molten heat of his room into the biting early morn air. As he sucked in deep breaths, the chill bit deep in his chest, and the cool breeze clung to the sheen of sweat on his bare torso. Boromir leaned heavily on the wrought iron rail, the damp air whetting the walls of his arid throat.

Though his senses had come to him quickly, Boromir's racing heart and shuddering limbs could not be soothed. Returning briefly to his room to pull around him his heavy, fur-lined cloak, Boromir sat on the cold stone floor of the terrace in silence until his frenzied shaking subsided. There he lay in a dazed stupor, until weak sunlight began to trickle through the dips and peaks of the mountains to light the dark reaches of his soul and ease the cold fear that filled his heart.

********** 


	6. Aniron Lorien

For the second morning in as many days, Nephryn awoke to the sound of loud voices, coming from the gardens below her room. Judging from the angle at which the glaring light spilled through the windows, she had slept well into the morning though her body felt none the better for it. It had been quite late when she'd finally left the dining hall. Toward the end of the night, it had taken all her energy just to remain focused on the tall tales of one Bilbo Baggins. 

Legolas had long sensed that she was very tired, and he'd offered quietly to carry her out of the hall. At that moment, seeing the sincerity of his offer, she'd almost laughed at the prospect of being carried swooning from a room of the most powerful creatures in Middle Earth. No, Nephryn Istriél had walked steadily and calmly from the room and into the hallway before turning humble, pleading eyes to her elf companion, who had graciously swept her up and carried her all the way to her bed. 

Like the perfect, genteel elf he had thus proven to be, once she had changed and laid down, he had gently drawn the light quilt up to her shoulders, pressed a tender kiss to her brow and bade her sweet and peaceful dreams. Then, as promised, he sat by her side until her eyelids had fallen shut. 

She smiled at the memory, basking in the warmth of the sun. Truly she would treasure moments such as those for as long as she lived. The bustle that tinged the atmosphere compelled her to rise, regardless that she felt as though she could sleep for yet another half day. She swung her legs out onto the velvet rug and stood, gingerly testing the mobility of her battered body. Her injuries had improved yet again, and as she stood in front of the window, she raised her arms in as much of a stretch that her sore spots would allow.

"You're awake, I see!" The deep voice behind her startled her, and she cowered slightly, covering her upper torso, for all she wore was a light sleeveless robe. Warm hands placed a heavier robe over her shoulders, and she drew it around her, pulling tight on the sash. 

She turned slowly to view her early morning visitor. Elrond stood before her. He wore robes of birch-bark grey and deep-water blue. He wore a scabbard and, peaking over his shoulder, she noticed an ornately decorated longbow. 

"You look much rested. How do you feel?" Nephryn snapped out of the trance she'd fallen into, and bowed deeply.

"I feel as though the lingering fatigue will never truly assuage. But it is better than yesterday, and tomorrow will be better than today." 

Elrond smiled at her optimism and determination. He moved toward a chair and sat, motioning that she should follow suit. Clearly, the Elf-lord wished to speak to her, and for him to appear in person it would no doubt be important.

Though he appeared to Nephryn, more rested than she had seen him before, there was something in his eyes that spoke volumes about how expected her to react to what he was about to tell her.

"You are a creature of great intellect and strength of character, Nephryn. You have demonstrated that previously. It seems to me that, however, that you have more than mere talent." 

Nephryn frowned at this, shaking her head for she did not know how else to respond to such an observation.

"There are a great many things afoot in Middle Earth, though I doubt that you are very aware of the most important of them. Tell me, what do you know of the Rings of Power?" 

Nephryn briefly recounted all she knew of the rings; three to the elves, seven to the dwarves, nine to the men and a ruling ring, wrought by the Dark Lord, mixed with his own blood and life-force so that it would dominate all others.

Elrond nodded in silent approval, for the accuracy with which she told the tale surprised him.

"The Ruling Ring was lost, was it not? I know that Sauron has sought after it for many years, and he is not alone in his search. My pursuit by the Úlairi proves this. Am I to correctly assume that the Evil Ring has resurfaced, after its disappearance in the Gladden Fields?" 

She spoke with an authority and confidence now, for this was an area in which she was most learned. Galadriél had been determined that her apprentice would be versed in the evil history so that the mistakes of old would never be repeated.

"You may. In fact, the Ring is here, at Rivendell." Elrond could see that this had shocked her. Long had it been suggested that it was only a matter of time before the Ring reappeared, but she knew as well as he the implications of having the Ring at Rivendell. It was only a matter of time before Sauron, and others located the ring, and Imladris would be besieged.

"You must destroy it!" Nephryn spoke so fervently that it seemed as though she was pleading with him.

"Please, my Lord! You were there, at Dagorlad. You know the power and the evil this object has wrought. I have studied the Ring, and know just as you that it has no master save the Dark Lord. He will find it, and when he does, your glorious haven will be no more." 

She slipped into silence then, as though she were ashamed of her impassioned outburst. She dropped her gaze to the floor, almost expecting a reprimand.

"You are wise beyond your years. Such judicious advice have I heard only from those who have witnessed the evil of the Ring, or those who bear the burden of its legacy. Clearly you have studied well. Fear not, for plans are underway to banish the Ring forever, but it will take time. During that time Rivendell, indeed all of Middle Earth, will be quite unsafe. For that reason, I am going to send you on to Lothlorién." 

Nephryn raised her head and caught his gaze. There was an anguish plainly written on her pretty features.

"No," She whispered brokenly.

"I can help. I want to help. Please, I am no safer there than here, by your side. I am a competent warrior, skilled with a bow and knife. I am learned in the ways of Elven lore. Please!"

Her green eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

"Your competence is not in question. You are wise. Your wisdom in life is more important than glory in death. The decision is made, I'm afraid. Though I wish it were otherwise. Arwen shall miss you dearly, as will and all who have come to know you since your arrival. But I know that their loss will be softened by the knowledge that you are safe. If Rivendell falls, Lothlorién will be the last Elven stronghold protected by the power of a Ring. Better that you be there."

A deep-seated resolve shone in Elrond's eyes. He was not to be persuaded by pleas or tears. But neither did he seem angry or piteous at her unusual display of emotion. When her tears subsided, he spoke again in soft tones.

"If I thought that you might be safe here I would have you stay, for you are family. But it is not and there are a great many other things that worry us. Let not your safety add to those worries. I know that, as much as Legolas would have you stay, he will fight better and stronger knowing that you are safe." 

He said no more, placing a soothing hand on her shoulder before he turned and left.

As quickly as the tears had rushed forth, and her emotions revealed themselves, a cool impassive expression came over her. She was numb at the thought of being without Legolas, though that which terrified her more was the prospect of living out her life without him. No, she thought, it was better to do without him and that he survive the imminent troubles than to face the rest of an eternity alone. 

When it came time to leave, she would show no fear, lest he fear more for her. She would be calm and strong. She would learn to live without him for a time. It could be done, she knew, for she had spent all her life thus far without him.

**********

Legolas's nimble fingers swiftly restrung the elegant longbow, though his mind was not truly fixed on the task. Rather he worried about how to break the news that Nephryn would be sent back to Lothlorién in the coming days. He knew that she was physically strong enough to make the journey, though he wondered how her mind would adapt, having only truly found peace since she arrived at Rivendell. 

Truth be told, he had become quite content to have her near him and he wondered how he would be, finding that he could not be there for her.

So utterly engrossed in his troubles was he that quiet observation from the doorway went unnoticed. Nephryn stood at the door, She had dressed more practically today, for she would not be cooped inside. She wore suede brown breeches and light lace-up boots, an olive green tunic, its sleeves doubly layered for warmth and a rich earthen leather scabbard clipped around her narrow waist. She lacked only the sword to holster in it.

As she watched the fair elf-prince, Nephryn could not help but admire the beautiful weapon he wielded. It was crafted from an ebony wood, and each end was tipped in gold leaf designs. It was tightly strung with hair the shone like spun gold. At his feet, Legolas's neat leathern quiver lay propped, full to the brim with long feathered arrows.

"Do you like it?" 

Nephryn smiled. It appeared that she had not gone unnoticed, and that prince 

Legolas was every bit the astute tracker that his reputation boasted. He turned to her and smiled weakly. She could tell that his heart was not behind it. She could not bear to have hidden truths between them.

The words slipped out before they had truly entered.

"I am to leave for Lothlorién when Aragorn and his companions return."

She was quite proud at how her voice did not betray the turmoil beneath her words. Legolas stood and walked toward her but before he could even raise his arms, she held up one hand, commanding him to stop.

"Do not! If you touch me, I will cry. That would be undignified and silly because I will see you soon anyway." 

Legolas stepped back, as though she had erected some invisible barricade between that could not be crossed. He looked at her, but Nephryn had to look away because she knew that all the pain and sadness in her own soul would be reflected in his. If she bore witness, she would crumble.

"You promised to take me out today. I am well and it is a beautiful day. I would spend my last day here with you." 

Legolas merely nodded, understanding her need to avoid discussing her departure.

"I will get my cloak." Nephryn turned back toward the house. 

"You will ride with me?" 

His quiet request brought a fleeting smile to her face, and infused just enough courage in her that she turned and looked him in the eye.

"Of course."

********** 

Arwen Evenstar pushed herself into a half-run across the courtyard, her eyes searching all around as she scurried. It was rarely that she fought openly with her father, but what he was proposing was ridiculous. To send Nephryn beyond the safe boundaries of Rivendell, when so recently she'd been on the verge of slipping away forever, was to Arwen's mind cruel. Rivendell was a safe haven. 

And as she ran now, she searched not for her fellow elf-maid, but for the elf-prince whose heart she held. As she rounded the corner of the stables, she stopped short. Arwen had found Legolas, though not as she'd expected. He stood tall, next to his readied steed. Though show of emotion was rare for her, never in all her years had she truly seen a display of feeling in Legolas. As he stood there he seemed, for all the world, lost. His face was blank, though her keen eyes saw the well of tears threatening to spill and the way in which he gripped his longbow until his knuckled whitened, as though he was trying to restrain his rage. 

Arwen approached him slowly. She knew that he would hear her, but was unsure if he'd welcome her presence. When he said nothing, she walked up to his side and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Legolas maintained a lost stare and did not seem to respond at all the elf-lady's presence.

"Legolas, it will be all right." 

At last his gaze broke and he turned to stare at her. His bright eyes flickered with an anger and a desperation that she'd seen only once or twice in her father's or Aragorn's eyes.

"How can it be? I love her, with a force more powerful than I thought possible. It has happened in a matter of days, and now we are to be separated for months, perhaps forever? You know just as I do that Lothlorién is but marginally safer than here. If worst befalls us, we will be alone to face the dark. We are abandoning her!"

There was little that Arwen could say, for she too held these sentiments.

"She may seem frail to you now Legolas, but at her prime Nephryn is a powerful force, and strong of character. That which does not kill you only makes you stronger. She is strong, though you cannot yet see it."

She stepped up to him and took both his hands in hers, and met his gaze squarely.

"Trust that she will survive, and be sure to return to her." 

The words of comfort sounded hollow to her ears but she needed some reassurance herself and hearing the words spoken made them harder to disbelieve.

At that moment, Nephryn rounded the corner. Upon seeing Arwen, she stopped short. The elf-lady turned toward her, and without hesitation, Nephryn threw herself into her friend's embrace. 

"Fear not," Nephryn whispered dejectedly.

"I will be safe." 

Arwen pushed away the tears, and saw that none befell her friend's face. Nephryn smiled at her then, regarding her fondly, wiping the tears with the cuff of her tunic. She said no more then and turned to Legolas. He grasped her lightly about the waist and lifted her carefully onto the horse. When she was settled, he hoped up gracefully behind her. 

His touch was feather-light on her hips, and he kicked the horse into a slow trot. They turned as one and waved at Arwen.

"We will not go beyond the protected boundaries. We shall return before nightfall," Legolas shouted back, before turning and spurring the horse into a 

gallop.

Nephryn sat comfortable, and though the horse raced, the ride was smooth as the beautiful steed compensated easily for the lay of the land. Wind whipped at her hair, which was securely bound at the nape of her neck. Legolas's broad chest was warm and comforting behind her, his hold on her waist gentle, but reassuring. She leaned back into him, and he pressed his smooth cheek to hers, peppering her face with soft kisses as the cool, fresh air rejuvenated their senses.

They rode for a half hour, until the came up over a crest and into a small valley. Legolas eased the horse to a halt, surveying the land with a slim hand shading his eyes. When he was satisfied that they were safe, he jumped down and stood ready to catch Nephryn as she descended. 

The glade was sheltered from the breeze and the sun warmed the crisp air. They walked side by side with the horse until Nephryn stopped, shaded her eyes and inspected the land.

"There!" She pointed toward a large fallen tree trunk lying against a mossy outcrop. 

Legolas followed her gaze and nodded slowly. He pulled the longbow and quiver from his back and set them on the ground at his feet. Nephryn climbed carefully across the rough terrain. When she reached the trunk, she pulled a small knife from her boot and cut a wide deep cross on the face of the bark, exposing the lighter wood just under it. As she returned, Legolas checked the arrow tips to for any bluntness or fracture that could cause it to stray. Satisfied, he handed a single arrow to the elf-maid, who now held the longbow in both hands as she studied the craftsmanship. 

"You are sure you are well enough to do this?" Legolas asked as she took the offered arrow.

She smiled at him fondly, touched by his concern.

"Quite sure thank you."

Nephryn raised the bow. It was larger than she was used to, but it was finely crafted and so it was both light and sturdy. She set her feet apart and stood at an angle to her target, as she'd been taught. Long slender fingers set the arrow to the wood and strong arms pulled both arrow and string back, behind her shoulder. 

Legolas watched as she set aim. Certainly Arwen had been correct when she'd spoken of Nephryn's skill with the bow. Her hands did not shake, and her stance was such that no part of her body touched against the bow frame. Such a mistake was common in even moderate archers. If there was such contact, it might affect the angle of shoot or the speed of the arrow.

For a single moment, Nephryn stood perfectly still as she sighted down the arrow and then, with the grace and ease of an expert, she released it. The arrow sang as it cut the still air. To a mortal it would appear but a blur, but Legolas watched as it sliced through the air. It missed some foliage and branches narrowly, but it seemed that such tight targeting was intentional for the arrow plummeted through the centre of the cross that she'd etched into the wood.

"Very good!" 

Nephryn looked at him, but did not regard the comment as condescending, as others might. Instead she simply nodded her head in thanks. 

Legolas went to the shaft of wood and pulled out the arrow. Then he pulled out his own knife and cut out a second cross directly below the first. When he returned to where Nephryn stood, she had already selected two arrows and was setting them to the bow. Carefully, she slipped the held the arrows between her fore, middle and ring finger. Just as Legolas had been taught, she held the arrows close to the tip, near the blade, so that she could sight down more accurately. She released the shots just as before and again the targeting was precise, piercing each cross at dead centre. 

Legolas was impressed. It was entirely possible that Nephryn was a better shot than he himself was. This time he did not bother to retrieve the arrows but went instead to the horse. From a satchel hanging on the horse's flank, he pulled out a square of muslin cloth. He scooped up a handful of twigs, earth and moss, and checked for pebbles or stones before putting it onto the cloth and tying it with thread. 

He held the sack up for her to see. 

"Now we shall truly test your aim." He waited as she readied the bow, and then launched the small bundle it into the air. It was only seconds before the sack was torn from its flight and pinned to a tree trunk. As he retrieved it, he noticed that the arrow had pierced above the tie, such that the contents were not spilled. Nephryn noticed his close inspection.

"So that you do not have to prepare another!" She shouted to him. 

She turned and sat on a small boulder. As she leaned over, she held her side slightly. Legolas noted her discomfort as her walked back toward her. As he came up behind her, he placed his hand lightly on her shoulder.

"Perhaps you aught to rest. You have proven that you are very skilled." 

Nephryn smiled at the compliment, for it meant much coming from an archer of Legolas's repute. 

"But you are still better. And I will learn and become more skilled so that when you return to me, we shall be evenly matched." 

Though she spoke with levity in her voice, Legolas did not miss the underlying words. She was insisting that he return to her.

"Nephryn, you know that I cannot tell what awaits us in the coming days." 

When she looked up at him, all flippancy was gone from her face and her eyes misted over with unshed tears, their jewel-like sparkle smothered beneath the iron mask of sorrow. She stood slowly and awkwardly, and took both his hands in hers. She could not bring herself to look at him then, for fear that she would cry and never stop. 

"Tell me what it is that steals the light from your eye," Legolas implored quietly.

"I am scared," she mumbled, her eyes still fixed on their intertwined hands.

"I feel now that if I were to lose you, my will to live would die with you. And this scares me more than my own death or yours. The very thought that in only days, our souls having seeming become interdependent and that I cannot bear to be away from you. I fear that what I feel is simply the manifestations of a desperate girl. For if it were true, and in only days I loved you, what does that entail for the future."

Legolas's slim hands had cupped her face, as though to quell the storm of emotions that raged in the elf-maid. The words she spoke put better expressed his feelings than he could ever have himself. There was very little in life the Legolas was afraid of, but the strength and depth of the emotions that coursed through him now terrified him. They held him in such sway that he found himself ready to sacrifice any and all for her safety and happiness.

At that very moment, Elrond's true reasons for sending Nephryn away rang through. Could it be that the wise Elf-lord saw in them a blinded love before even they themselves had seen it? If anyone would see it, it would be Elrond for, as he himself had stated, he had seen the greatest loves and hates in Middle Earth over the last six thousand years. 

He leaned down impulsively then and captured her lips with his own, endowing passionate ardent kisses. When they broke for air, he looked deep into her smouldering eyes and pressed his forehead to hers.

"I understand your fear. I feel it too. But my soul tells me that you are the one with whom I will spend the remainder of my days, be they long or short. It is best that you be in Lorién, for if you are there you cannot come to harm and I will have no fear that you will not be there when I return. And so I will try harder to return, knowing that you await me in safety." 

His tender heartfelt words stunned her into silence, and she merely nodded. Legolas did not need to hear words though; he could see the profound love in the tears that fell and the sobs that choked her breath. She sank to the ground and he supported her as she fell. They sat there, embraced for an eternity, until her tears subsided. 

For the rest of the afternoon, they did not speak of her departure or of their newly discovered love. They eat and drank their fill. Nephryn practiced further with the bow. They walked down to the river Bruinen, and there they bathed their feet and spoke of their lives before Rivendell and their fateful encounter.

At nightfall, just as comrades at Rivendell had begun to worry, Legolas and Nephryn returned as they had promised. She was encircled in his protective embrace now, her face hidden from curious eyes. The elf-prince reined the steed to a halt and slipped down to the ground. Nephryn all but fell into his waiting arms, for exhaustion enveloped her to the point where she could hardly hold her head up. A stable hand took Legolas's bow and quiver and led away the grey stallion, and the elf-prince carried his precious charge to her room.

As he walked, he felt her succumb to sleep. She lay in his arms, her head curled against his shoulder and one flailing hand thrown around his neck. In only a matter of hours, it seemed that she had come to trust him completely, just as he had hoped.

For a third night, he stayed by her side, watching her sleep, trying to commit to memory the contours of her face. Hours later, Legolas sat there still, watching as the rising moon cast an ethereal glow on his beloved's face. That image, he thought, could sustain him through anything the dark powers threw his way. That and the fact that his passing would be followed by hers, and to deprive this world of such a magnificent creature would be a crime that he would not be a part of.

**********

The sun had peaked high over the summits of the Misty Mountains when Aragorn rode back into Rivendell. His companions had parted with him at the borders of Imladris, for never was their toil in the pursuit of Mordor's minions done. As he rode into the courtyard, it seemed empty. As such, when a solid hand landed on his shoulder while he was removing the saddle form the steed, Aragorn was startled. He whipped his arm around, aiming to strike at the throat of unknown enemy with the blade of his hand. Were it not for Elrond's sharp reflexes and equal fighting skill, the elf-lord would surely be unconscious at the man's feet.

Elrond deflected the arm easily and stepped back holding up his hands. Aragorn exhaled heavily and a ghost of a smile danced on his lips as he pointed a warning at the Elf-lord. 

"It seems that I may have taught you too well." 

Aragorn laughed lightly, shaking his head at the seeming ridiculous comment.

"There is no such thing as being too well prepared. You yourself told me so. And you have but passed on skills that you have mastered over many of my lifetimes."

Elrond smiled and bowed his head, acknowledging the deep respect that existed between he and his fostered son. His face darkened measurably though as he turned to matters more serious.

"What news of the path to Lothlorién? Is it safe?" 

Aragorn said nothing as he hefted the weighty saddle and placed on a hay bale at the door of the stables. When he turned back to the elf, his face was dark and foreboding. 

"We found no Orc or Úlairi, but that is not to say that they hadn't passed through. Truly there is no place safe now. If you send Nephryn on, she must be well accompanied and they aught not to stop for any reason. To do otherwise will invite tragedy. Do you consider her well and strong enough for such a journey?"

"She accompanied Legolas to the pastures beyond the river today. She was tired when she returned. She has acknowledges that the journey is necessary. I believe that she can make the journey, but there is a risk. I must ask her to consider this for I cannot force her out to the danger from which she has fled for so long." 

Aragorn did not respond, merely nodding his head. He did not envy Legolas, for had he to make the same decisions that now faced the Elf-prince, Aragorn would surely falter. 

Elrond walked away, taking over his shoulder as he moved back to the house.

"You have done well Aragorn. I thank you for your noble services."

When the Elf-lord had disappeared inside, murmured under his breath, "T'was my duty my lord, though not my pleasure."

Indeed Aragorn would rather that none of them would have to leave Rivendell and that that blasted Ring had never resurfaced. But such yearnings would achieve naught, and there a great deal yet to be done.

********** 

Elrond raised a hand and knocked lightly on the heavy oak door. The sun was high in the sky, and he knew that the elves would not be spending perhaps their last day together cooped up inside. He heard soft murmurs behind the door followed by a louder voice.

"Come in!" Elrond obliged and pushed open the large door. When he entered, he saw Nephryn sitting on the bed, fully clothed in a tunic and breeches. She sat cross-legged, and was surrounded by an array of weapons. Legolas lounged in a chair beside her, a lazy, relaxed smile on his face.

The Elf-prince stood when he saw that their visitor was the head of the house, and was about bow when Elrond waved him down.

"It is too early in the day for formalities. What is all this?" He gestured toward the array of instruments on the bed. There were daggers and long-knives, bows and a quiver and several smaller items, some of which were foreign to his eyes.

"Legolas has offered to part with some of his possessions until we meet again. He thinks I shall need them for my trip!" There was levity in Nephryn's eyes as she spoke, as though she considered the suggestion preposterous. It weighed heavily on Elrond's heart to inform them of Aragorn's news. It seemed that even in his wisdom, his face was something of an open book for Legolas sensed immediately that something was amiss. He stood again, concern written plainly on his face.

"There is news!" 

Elrond inhaled deeply, in preparation to fend off what would likely be an angered elf.

"Aragorn returned with the morn. He and his comrades have scouted the most direct path to Lothlorién. Though they did not encounter any creatures of the Dark Lord, it was clear that Orcs and possibly some of the Úlairi had passed that way. It would be remiss of me not to warn of the danger of such a journey." 

There was a pregnant pause and the air was charged with tension and anxiety. 

"You would have her leave regardless?" There was a challenge in Legolas's voiced that dared Elrond to spur his anger.

"If you truly do not wish to make the journey, then you are welcome to stay, for if Rivendell is not a refuge first and foremost, it is nothing. No I will not ask you to act against your will. But the circumstances of your safety have not changed."

It seemed that although the two elves were discussing Nephryn's decision, she was not a part of it. There was friction between Elrond and Legolas, both wanting for her safety but by very different means, and her voice had become lost in it all.

"I will go." Legolas looked at her, stunned. There was a flash of anger in his 

eyes. Had she betrayed him?

"I must leave, for there are a great many dangers wherever I go. I will be of most value where I can continue to study under Galadriél. Where I will be out of your thoughts. You must not worry. Only concern yourself with staying alive." 

For a moment, it seemed that the elf-maid's pleas had no effect on the Legolas. Then the elf-prince's face softened, and her reached out to her face, caressing her cheek gently. 

"I know." Nephryn bowed her face into his touch, and the burden of her decision pulled at her heartstrings. She closed her eyes to stifle the tears that threatened. 

Elrond stood back a little, feeling as though he was an unwelcome intruder on the scene before him. At last Legolas pulled back, resignation and a perhaps acceptance on his features.

"She will travel with at least seven other elves. They will be well-trained and well-armed." Though the request was spoken more like an instruction, Elrond merely nodded. He understood the Elf-prince's need to feel that he was doing as much as possible to ease her journey.

"I will select them myself," Elrond added, hoping to reassure both elves.

"And you will travel as one, without pause. It is a four-day journey. If you continue without break, you will make it in two, two and a half days. You can rest when you are safe."

Nephryn nodded dumbly, as the reality of her too-sudden departure set in.

"When do you want me to leave?" She whispered the words, waiting on bated breath for an answer. Elrond could see that she was preparing herself for the worst.

"Today. Prepare you belongings now and we will leave when you are ready."

"I will never be ready to leave this place." Nephryn stammered dejectedly. 

Elrond regarded with fondness, the girl-elf that was once the hope for Lothlorién to thrive when the Lady of the Light passed over the sea. Though her heart was aching and her spirit seemingly crushed, he still saw in her an inherent strength, a determination to persist despite her fear or doubt or weaknesses. When such fortitude was coupled with a natural talent for the art of Elven magic, a formidable and inspiring leader was born. 

"You will survive. And you will return here one day, and then we shall talk of the days when we risked all for such a little thing as freedom." 

Nephryn mustered a smile from under the suffocating coat of fear. 

"I will hold you to that. And I anticipate the day when we will all be free once again to continue our lives." She bowed formally, giving thanks for the short stay and the kind care. Before he left, Elrond pressed a soft, father-like kiss to her forehead, and whispered quietly to her.

"En aifrein y vetei sufletül" Be well and stay safe. 

It was but two hours when Elrond had assembled seven elves, all well armed and eight strong steeds. In the end, Nephryn had could not bear to come between the bow and its master, and she had instead chosen to take two daggers. She walked slowly beside Legolas now as they made their way to the stables. She had one knife tucked into her boot and the other tucked into a belt at her hip. 

"Come now!" 

Both elves turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Aragorn strode toward them purposefully. He carried in one hand, a longbow and quiver and in the other a small box.

"I come to bid you well and safe journey." Though he sounded jovial all knew that the man wanted no less that the elf-maid be safe. 

Aragorn stood before her and bowed lightly. Nephryn smiled graciously at the gesture. Then Aragorn held out the longbow and quiver to her. 

"It is light and sturdy, but not too cumbersome for your small frame. It shall serve you well though I'd rather hope that you will not need it at all." 

Nephryn was touched by such a kind gesture from a man who was practically a stranger. Legolas stood behind her and affixed the quiver to a leathern baldric, which hung from her right shoulder to opposite hip. Then he secured to longbow to the quiver. Aragorn was right. The bow was smaller than Legolas's, but no less durable and its smaller size would not hinder Nephryn in the saddle.

"And Arwen bade me give you this. She cannot bear to part with you again, but she sends her love and prayers. She said this once belonged to you." Aragorn held in the palm of his hand a small ornately carved wooden box. The blackened metal hinges and tarnished gold lock gave nothing of its contents, only that it was very old. 

Curious, Nephryn took the box and pried the stiffened catch with small nimble fingers. When it opened at last, its contents startled her so she almost dropped the box. Her breath caught in her throat as she pulled out a most exquisite emerald set in a bronzed metal casing. The casing was fashioned in the shape of a teardrop, and was affixed to the end of a long chain. Legolas looked on curiously.

"What is it?" Both man and elf wondered what it was that could affect her so.

When Nephryn finally looked up from the intricate piece of jewellery, there was a joy in her eyes that neither Legolas nor Aragorn had seen before.

"It is the Brightstar. My namesake. Just as Arwen is Undomiél to her people - Evenstar - I was deigned Istriél - Brightstar - by the Lady during my study with her. She gave me this, though I thought it lost in my flight from the Orcs beyond Lorién." 

She folded the chain neatly back into the box and pushed in deep into a small pouch attached to the sash of her tunic. She took Aragorn's hands and pulled him close and pressed an almost motherly kiss to his temple. 

"Thank you for this, and all that you have done. I do not know as well as I would like, but you shall make a King such as Gondor has not seen since the fall of Elendil. Of this I am certain. Give Arwen my thanks, and tell her that we will meet again." 

Aragorn nodded in silence, wishing more with every passing moment that both he and Legolas could safely see her to the Golden Wood. Such a loss to the elf-prince would it be if she were to be lost now, so soon after they'd found each other. Though he could not quite put this in words, it seems that there was no need for to the elves his face was an open book. They saw his concern and worry plainly etched on his face, and both seemed to acknowledge and take heart from it. 

"I am sorry that I cannot do more. I pray that your journey be swift and your enemies far away." With that he bowed formally and left them. Though he was glad that he could help a little, the reality of the situation was not lost on him for he knew that if things took a turn for the worst, he might never see the fair and wise elf-maid again and such a prospect left him aghast. 

**********

When Legolas and Nephryn arrived at the stables, her companions were mounted and ready to leave. A single tall grey mare stood, clad in light armour and a bridle. Elves had no need for a saddle, and used it only when necessary. Aside from her newly acquired weaponry, Nephryn also carried a small sack tied to a roll. Legolas took the roll and threw it over the horses back. In it there was fresh water, lembas and some Kingsfoil. 

He turned to her and they embraced in silence for words were woefully inadequate in expressing the profound sorrow each felt at the parting. There were no tears though. They had been spent hours ago. Legolas kissed her softly on the lips and when they broke, he kept his forehead touching hers as he spoke in quiet, insistent tones.

"Do not stop for anything, even though exhaustion will dull your judgement. If you should fall prey to Orcs if you are nearer to Rivendell than Lorién, do not hesitate to turn back. Do you understand?"

There was a fierce doubt in his eyes, as though she did not carry his warnings with enough weight. She raised a hand to his face, tracing the fine contours of his face, as though trying take with her the memory of his being. 

"I will not stop until I am face to face with the Lady herself. We shall ride hard, without pause. I carry arms and strong comrades and the good wishes of all that I leave behind. Fear not. Just promise you will return to me." 

Legolas could not speak, for a lump had lodged in his throat and cut off his voice. Her courage and determination were breathtaking and he was dumbstruck. 

"I love you." His words were choked and filled with pleading, as though the words could stay her departure. 

Nephryn nodded, and could only mouth the words in return, because her voice was simply gone. The truth of the words hit as hard as any force, and she found it still difficult to understand how such a bond had developed in mere days. 

Without warning, she found herself being lifted onto the horse. She looked down at the handsome elf-prince who, by some miracle, had so quickly captured her heart and soul. The love and care that radiated from his face, the like of which she had never known, was all the inspiration she needed to sustain her for the trip. She spurred he horse onward, but had not travelled far when she stopped, and turned to face Legolas one last time. Their eyes met and without a word, she fished out the wooden box from the pouch at her hip. She threw as hard as she could and Legolas's quick hands caught it easily. When he looked back to Nephryn, the group had left and crossed the narrow stone bridge over the Bruinen at a gallop. Shaking hands pried open the small case. Inside, delicately folded was Istriél, nestled in velvet glinting dully in the dying evening sunshine. 

He knew what it meant. She wanted it back, but only if it was born in his hands. For her sake if no other, he would fight and work and survive to return the keepsake to her. 

TBC

Want more...

(A simple yay or nay will suffice thank ye, no flames cos I know how to return ta sender just as well as the next obsessed fic writer ^-^)


	7. Lost Home Found

Authors note: I'm sticking to the timeline in the book, ie that the fellowship spent almost two months at Rivendell before departing for Mordor. In the film its like 5 seconds. So just in case you're wondering. I'd really appreciate any and all feedback or my will to update may wane, sob sob! 

The Lady of the Golden wood had long roamed the glades of her realm when she finally came upon what she was looking for. Her understudy stood straight and tall, ebony tresses billowing about her in the gentle crisp breeze. Though she was not practising her chants or studying the lore, as the Elf-queen might have expected. Now the elf-maid shot arrows from a longbow. Her aim was impeccable, her technique flawless, and her consistency and perseverance awe-inspiring. 

The Elf-queen's mind flashed back to the night she had returned. 

_A storm had brewed all the day, and when it finally broke, the rain poured down like stinging nettles. There were no patrols on the perimeter for even keen Elven sight could not penetrate the opaque cloud that had descended upon Lothlorién. To this day, the Galadriél did not know how Nephryn had managed to guide her group to safety._

_At the time, her husband had been at Rivendell, and so it was she who was alerted that there were strangers nearby. No one knew whether friend or foe lurked, only that there were seven in all mounted high on shielded steeds, and that they appeared well-armed. Galadriél ordered that they be intercepted, though not attacked by a group of Galadhrim. When her herald arrived with news that they were surrounded and asking to speak directly with her, she went immediately. When she arrived, the rain fell still in blinding sheets. The strangers would not reveal themselves until they had council with the Lady herself. _

_"Reveal yourselves and speak of you purpose here." Galadriél commanded. _

_"Begging the Lady's pardon but your presence was necessary in order that we complete our duty." The seeming leader spoke out from under a dark cloak, though it was clear that he and his crew were saturated through to the flesh._

_"What task have you that I must be a part of?" She spoke in cool tones, but this suspicious nature of their visitors had her and all that surrounded her tense and wary._

_"Your husband, the Lord Celeborn, and the master of Rivendell, Lord Elrond, bid us to deliver an important item, once lost to you." _

_Galadriél frowned at this. What possible object could be so important to her that this group would undertake such a dangerous and difficult journey so willingly? From behind her, her aide seemed to voice her thoughts._

_"What could possibly be so important to bear here in such atrocious conditions?"_

_The leader seemed to look around his group, as though searching for the one who carried it, so that he could answer._

_Without warning, one of the riders nestled between the others removed the hood that hid his face._

_"Me." _

_Galadriél felt her knees weaken, and from behind she felt strong hands support her arms. Worried voices queried as to her well-being, but she could not answer. Sitting high on the horse was Nephryn Istriél. She was soaked through, rain running in streams from tendrils of hair that clung to her thin face. Though she was heavily clothed, Galadriél could see that she was very thin, and exhaustion ringed her eyes and sunk her cheeks. The Elf-queen was walking over to her, when she sat the young elf-maid sway and tumble from the horse. _

_"No!" She reached out, but saw that one of her own elves had reached out and caught the ailing elf before she hit the sodden ground._

_"We seek warmth and rest. Will you welcome us?" The leader spoke again. He had removed his hood, as had all his companions, and she could see clearly that they were kin. _

_"Of course."_

And that was the day that the lost one was finally returned to the flock. Two months exactly this day. She had come so far since then. When she'd arrived, the long journey had taken a heavier toll than any had expected. Her companions insisted that she'd been quite well when they'd left Rivendell, but as the voyage progressed, she became increasingly weak. She was not always lucid, spoke little and eat nothing. A far cry, they insisted from her earlier state. One of the elves confided to her later though that she appeared very fond of an elf who visited the refuge and that their parting had been bittersweet. 

In the many weeks after her reappearance, Nephryn was quiet and physically weak, though none could understand it for the physical wounds she'd received at the hands of the Úlairi had all but healed. Some believed that her lonely soul had manifested it self physically, but Galadriél remained unconvinced.

"Why do you stare at me, my Lady?" 

Nephryn clear voice drew the Elf-queen back from the recesses of her memories. The queen did not answer the elf-maid's question. She merely smiled and drew closer.

"Your skill with the bow is as fine as any I have before witnessed. You have a natural talent." 

Nephryn's face brightened visibly at this. She set the bow down at her feet and went about collecting the spent arrows. There were five buried in a small trunk. All had hit the centre of the target, and one had even cleaved another arrow in half. 

"Do you wish to speak with me?" Nephryn spoke over her shoulder as she pulled each blade from the splintered wood.

Galadriél waited patiently until the elf-maid had finished collecting her arrows. She had a matter of importance to speak on and Nephryn's full attention would be required. When at last she turned back to the Elf-queen, Galadriél began to speak. 

"I have consulted the mirror." 

As soon as the words had left Galadriél's lips, the elf-maid's interest was captured. She frowned as she approached, and knelt near where the Elf-queen now sat. 

"What have you discovered?" 

"I believe I have deciphered the meaning of the symbol you bear. Your fate it seems is linked with that of the One Ring." Nephryn's frown deepened at this, for she knew well that it could not be good if it was to do with the Dark Lord.

"In what way?" 

"I know not, nor shall I know until the time is right. It is wise that you continue to better your knowledge of elven lore. It may be very valuable and indeed necessary in the coming days."


	8. Borrowed Gifts Returned

The fellowship of the ring had come far since that fateful day when Legolas and his beloved Nephryn had parted ways. When they had first set out from Rivendell, with the intent of escorting Frodo Baggins to Mordor to destroy the Ring once and for all, they numbered nine. Elrond had chosen this number so as to equally match the nine Nazgûl that would undoubtedly pursue the Ring. 

They had braved the Caladhras until an immense, and seeming impassable storm had forced them down into the caves of Moriả. There they found devastation and death. The caves had long been destroyed and looted. They were inhabited by a swarm of Orcs and a fearsome Balrog. They would not have escaped their dark clutches but for the bravery, and ultimately, self-sacrifice demonstrated by Gandalf the Grey. Now he was no more and the fellowship was down to eight: Boromir, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Frodo, Samwise Gamgee, Merry and Pippen. 

The loss of Gandalf eroded the morale of the group and as they emerged physically depleted and mentally forlorn it seemed that the demise of even one of their small number slowed the already lingering progress of the group. 

They walked now over the rough terrain, and they were spread thin. Aragorn and Legolas lead the way for they were most able-bodied of them all. The four hobbits trailed in pairs in their wake. Boromir, who seemed to gravitate toward Frodo, and Gimli, brought up the rear. Though the dwarf was last, of all of them, his progress had been the steadiest. 

Aragorn breathed hard in the thin air. Beside him, though the elf showed no sign of fatigue, Legolas felt his limbs burn with a tiredness that resulted from being without any lengthy physical rest. The elf knew that if he was feeling the weariness of their travels, then the hobbits would now be on the point of collapse.

"Aragorn!" Legolas had pulled up and was now looking back towards the rest of the group, whose progress had dwindled. Aragorn stopped and waited as they caught up. In truth, he was glad to stop to catch his breath.

"We will have to stop soon for a rest, but it cannot be in such a place where there is now shelter." Legolas observed as he surveyed the land, one hand shading his eyes. 

Aragorn said nothing, but he knew that it would not be before the hobbits legs simply gave out. He did not have time to make even a suggestion to the elf for Legolas cried out, pointing to the horizon.

"We are beset by creatures of the Dark Lord." 

Aragorn could not see the threat but he had no reason to doubt the elf's much keener senses. He waved to Boromir, who burst into a run, dragging with him two of the hobbits. Gimli followed suit, bearing the remaining hobbits. 

"We are under attack. Boromir, you and I shall take Frodo and Merry to the eastern approach to the woods and Legolas and Gimli, you shall bear Pippen and Sam to the western approach. The woods are protected. I believe our best chance lies there." 

Though his words sounded convincing, Legolas knew that it was more for the benefit of the frightened hobbits than any real tactical advantage. Nonetheless, Legolas grabbed Pippen's hand and set of into a run toward the western side of the forest. He could hear the Gimli's footfalls and Sam's laboured breathing behind him, so he did not waste precious time to glance behind him. 

In a matter of minutes, the thunderous clap of metal boots on stone seemed to surround the four. The Orcs had moved faster than any of the fellowship had given them credit for. Soon Legolas knew they would be surrounded and from then it would merely be a matter of time, as the Orcs would pick them off one at a time. 

An Orcs arrow roared past Pippen's ear, and the startled hobbit threw himself down into the ground, almost dragging Legolas with him. Legolas pulled hard to raise the terrified halfling to his feet. Ahead of him, arrows that missed their targets embedded themselves deeply in the trees. Gimli was nowhere to be seen, nor Sam and Legolas had no choice but to assume that they were safe.

The elf-prince turned then to face their assailants, pushing Pippen down behind him to shield the unwitting hobbit from any further harm. He drew his bow quickly and it sang as he release shot after shot, each making a clean kill. Pippen sat mesmerized on the ground as Legolas felled most of the Orcs that came too close. 

As much progress as he seemed to be making, Legolas knew that it was only a matter of time before one of the enemies arrows found a target. The elf turned to the hobbit, eyes blazing.

"Run!" He hissed. 

The hobbit needed no further instruction. Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas watched as the halfling scampered off in the most deserted direction. Then form nowhere two Orcs jumped out, into Pippen's path. The hobbit yelped in fright, and began glancing wildly for an escape. There was none and Legolas watched in horror as one Orc raised his crossbow to launch a fatal shot at the helpless hobbit.

"No!" He cried out. 

But the arrow never found a target for, from nowhere a horseman appeared, pulling a dazed Pippen onto the steed behind him. As the stranger fled, he raised a longbow and sighted down two arrows. The shot was difficult and while neither Orcs was killed, each was hit and the immediate threat removed. 

In the foray Legolas almost forgot about the approaching Orcs. He loosed two more shots and realised that he was down to his last. Then, without warning, from on high arrows rained down on the Orcs. In seconds, what was a score of menacing warriors was now a decimated blood bath. 

Legolas turned to spy his unknown allies. As he turned, he pulled out both long-knives. At one side, he saw Gimli pop out of the tall grass, pulling Sam up beside him. When Legolas inspected the tall trees, he could see no sign of anyone having even been there. But that did not mean there was no one there. 

There was the sound of unshod horse hooves behind him and Legolas turned to see a pale shaken Pippen jump down from a tall steed, sinking to his knees as he hit the ground. Legolas remained wary, his knives still drawn as he approached the fallen hobbit. The stranger wore a heavy shimmering grey cloak, with a wide-brimmed hood that covered his face completely.

As Legolas appraised the stranger, he conclude that he must be an elf for he rode with no saddle, and was clearly a skilled marksman. 

"Who are you?" 

 The stranger did not answer but gestured lightly to the unsheathed knives with one hand, indicating that Legolas should drop them.

"No, I don't think so. Perhaps if I knew who you were?" 

A voice sounded behind him.

"Does it matter as long as we are not allied with the Dark Lord?"

Legolas turned to find several elves standing in a wide circle behind him. They too wore long grey cloaks and bore elegant longbows. They'd obviously saved Legolas's life, and for that he was grateful. So he slowly put both knives on the ground. As he stood he kept a hand over the hilt of a small dagger at his hip.

A sweet gentle voice laughed from behind him.

"I thought you only had two of those." 

**************

So stunned was the elf-prince at the gentle voice, that he refused to believe his ears. It couldn't be! He turned slowly back to the stranger on the grey horse. Indeed his eyes told him that it was true. Nephryn Istriél sat tall in the seat, her long ebony locks slipping out from under the cloak. Her hood was down now and her could see the glow from her eyes. So healthy and full of life she seemed compared to their last days together.

"Nephryn?" Legolas walked slowly towards her, throwing down the dagger as he approached. He held his arms out for her and she fell willingly into his deep embrace. He laughed incredulously as he swung her around in his arms. His long arms encircled her still slim waist and he felt a burble of laughter from her as she pressed her face into his shoulder. One small hand entwined itself in his long gold locks while the other guided his face to hers. The elf-prince felt that, in spite of the run in with the Orcs, this was truly a small glimmer of hope in the ever-darkening horizons. She caught his gaze with hers, and he could see a simmering longing in the lush green eyes that surely mirrored his own desires.

Suddenly aware that they were being watched, he set her down gently, but kept an arm at her back as they turned to face the other elves. 

"Legolas, these are the Galadhrim warriors who guard the borders around Lothlorién. Your companions to the east are safe also. They are being escorted here as we speak." Nephryn seemed to be in charge of this patrol.

One of the elves called out to her. 

"My Lady, what would you have us do?" 

Nephryn looked around for Gimli and Sam. She could see, even from a distance that Sam's face was scratched. She gestured to them.

"Tend to their wounds while we wait for the rest to arrive. Then we can proceed to Lothlorién." The elf nodded once and went to attend to the shaken hobbit.

Legolas turned to face Nephryn, taking her hands in his. He smiled down, disbelief still evident on his smiling features.

"You are well?" 

They walked together now, away from prying eyes but to too far away from the safety of the group. His eyes danced, as he appraised her appearance. She radiated health. Though still slight, her features were no longer drawn with exhaustion and fear. Her green eyes emanated vitality and energy, and when she smiled they sparkled. She wore tunic and breeches still, under the elven cloak, and he could see the hilt of one of his daggers glint from its sheath on her baldric. 

"I am, but my recovery was not nearly so quick as it was when I was in Rivendell. The Lady believes that my recovery was linked to the Ring, but I believe that your presence was the driving force behind my recovery. You inspired me to live. I have missed you so." 

They stopped walking and he reached up to caress her cheek. 

"Never had I believed I could have missed anything so much in my life, but yearned more for your presence every day since we parted." 

Without another word, he reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out the small wooden casket she had given him that last day. He placed it in her hands and as she wrapped her fingers around it, he covered her hands with his.

"As I promised." She beamed at him as he threw an arm around her waist and they began to walk back to the where the elves tended to a slightly less-pale Sam.

The young hobbit sat still on the damp undergrowth, knees pulled up to his chest. He had a long cut along one cheek, much the same as Nephryn had when she'd first arrived at Rivendell. It snaked back into his hairline and the blood had mottled and dried to a sickly blackened ruby. One of the elves sat on haunches next to him, gently daubing a clear filmy balm over the cut and wiping it clean with a rough linen gauze. 

Hands still intertwined, Legolas and Nephryn approached slowly. Pippen had taken up guard next to Sam, standing defiantly, daring all to try and pass by him. 

"Young hobbit!" The elf-prince called to Pippen, so that he could introduce their companions to Nephryn. Before there was a chance however, muffled shouts were heard from beyond the dark copse of trees from which Nephryn and her band had first come. 

Legolas drew his knives in anticipation of further attack, while behind him Pippen cowered behind Sam, who seemed unaware of anything save the stinging sensation raging from the cut on his face. Legolas tried to push Nephryn behind him, where she'd be out of immediate harm. But instead of yielding to the gesture, she placed a hand over his blade forcing him to drop the knife lest she cut her hand. He was about to speak when she put one finger to her lips. All fell silent and one elf raised a hand to his mouth and blew a low melodious whistle. When a mirrored sound was echoed from within the wood, the elves dropped their guard. 

Seconds later a band of Galadhrim emerged cautiously through the trees, murmuring quietly among themselves. In their midst Aragorn and Boromir and their hobbit charges stood, wary of the elves and unsure of how to proceed. Legolas waved to draw the men's attentions. They immediately relaxed at the sight of a familiar face among the grave stern elves. Seeing that the strange group were not foe, the elves relaxed their guard and Aragorn and Boromir moved quickly over to where Legolas stood with Gimli and the hobbits. 

"It seems that we are safe, at least for the time being though we know not who our saviours are!" Though Boromir spoke enthusiastically, it was clear from his wary glances at Nephryn and her cohorts that he did not yet trust their rescuers. 

Legolas took the opportunity to allay the man's suspicions.

"Boromir, do you not remember when you last encountered this fair elf?" Legolas gestured to Nephryn.

Boromir studied the elf-maid for a long moment. He did not think it possible that it was the same fair beauty he'd seen many months previously, for though she'd been stunning she's seemed weak and frail. The elf that stood before him now stood as tall as himself, proud and strong, wielding a longbow and a dagger like those of Legolas.  

"I remember but I doubt my memories for you have changed greatly since that evening in Rivendell." 

Aragorn too recognised Nephryn but was also amazed at the change in the elf-maid. So breathtaking was the similarity now between Nephryn and Arwen that Aragorn found himself glad of the elf-maid's company for it brought some solace to him. He bowed deeply and formally to Nephryn, who smiled graciously at the gesture.

"Indeed though it has been many moons since last I laid eyes on you, I can recognise still the beautiful elf who graced the gardens of Rivendell for too short a time. Nephryn my heart lifts that you are well, for I know that Arwen would be greatly pleased to see you so improved." 

"Thank you Aragorn. You are most kind. But come, for I fear the longer we remain here the less safe we are. We shall proceed to Lothlorién directly. There you shall rest and rekindle your spirits." 

The elves bore the tired weary hobbits on the horses and Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli walked alongside them , unwilling to relinquish sight of them till they were beyond dark harm. At the rear of the procession, Legolas and Nephryn walked arm in arm. Though a fatigued body forced him to watch his step on the uneven terrain, out of the corner of his keen eyes, the elf-prince watched Nephryn. She walked tall, chin tilted up toward the dying daylight. One hand rested heavily on his arm while the other hovered near the hilt of her dagger. Like his own, her longbow was now strung across her back. 

"Why do you stare at me?" She did not look at him, but her lips curved into a meagre smile. When he did not reply, she tightened her grasp on his arm and leaned her head into his shoulder as they walked. He could not resist bringing a hand across to caress her face and pull her into the crook of his arm. She leaned in eagerly, hungry for his touch and wanton for the feel of his hands on her. 

"We shall have tonight my love." He whispered, his voice husky as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. If they never had another day, they would have tonight. 

One hour later, they arrived at the Celebrant. The river ran deep and cold, its currents pulling against the banks, bending the growth to its flow. The steady gurgle of its tide over the rocky bed was the only sound to break the twilight air. One of the elves, slung a rope across the wide breadth of the rushing water. It was caught on the far side, presumably by a fellow elf, and secured so that it was taut, rising two lengths over the frigid liquid. All but a handful of the elves crossed, balancing delicately on the rope. When it came turn for the hobbits and company to cross, one of the remaining elves Haldir, threw two more ropes across, and when the were secured, they rose above the first rope, creating a easier passage for those who could not balance so easily. When all but himself and Nephryn had crossed, Nephryn released the two ropes and both scurried across the single rope. When they dropped to the far side, Haldir removed the last rope, and with that all trace that any had ever been through there was gone. 

"It is but two score minutes to Lothlorién from here. I must blindfold you." Haldir drew out a set of linen strips as spoke and half to Nephryn. 

Gimli grunted loudly, stomping one foot on the ground in indignation.

"I am an honourable being. There is no need to blind me!" Aragorn placed a placating hand on the dwarf's broad shoulder to try and soothe the irate dwarf but to no avail. 

"Unhand me! I am honourable and I will go no further lest I may see where I am being taken." 

Legolas bristled at this. No longer could they afford the delay. He cut the air with a loud hiss of anger, gesturing wildly with one hand.

"A plague on Dwarves and their stiff necks!" The elf-prince muttered. 

Aragorn could see that such comments would not make any progress. He held up a hand to silence the bickering.

"I believe that it is the good Lady's intention that we all be blindfolded. It is no slight on your honour Gimli. Even Legolas, who is kin, must wear a blindfold. Am I correct?" 

Nephryn smiled thankfully at him, grateful for the intervention. 

"Indeed my instructions are to blind all of you, even Legolas. The Lady does not doubt your honour. It is simply the way things are done." 

Anger flashed bright in Legolas's bright eyes. 

"I am an elf and a kinsman here." Not even Nephryn's soothing murmurs could appease the elf-prince.

"Now let us cry: 'a plague on the stiff necks of elves!'" Aragorn's words silenced him instantly and Legolas was immediately sorry that he'd let anger and impatience cloud his judgement and affect his manner. He held up both hands in surrender and Nephryn walked behind him and fastened in place the thick linen fold. 

As she tied it, he secretly delighted at her light touch at the nape of his neck. She too revelled in the silken feel of his gold spun locks, and as she stood close she breathed in his scent. The light woody, fresh scent filled her being and the thought of being close to him once more made her dizzy with delight. She'd paused for a second, allowing her hands to linger near his neck, and his face melted into a smile. He knew well her thoughts for they matched his own. 

"Will you guide me?" Legolas murmured quietly, his hands weaving out in search of hers. Nephryn closed her eyes as she took his warm hand in her own. 

"If you will trust me." 

He stopped at this, and instinctively turned to face her. Though her could not see her face, her could hear her breathing and he leaned down to place a kiss on her forehead. At that moment, she tilted her head up and their lips met. There was no need for further reassurances. They walked for almost an hour, his hand resting on her arm. Though it was dark, the bright silver light of the spring moon bathed their path in an ethereal glow, banishing the clawing shadows. 

When at last they arrived at the gates of Lothorién, the folds were removed. No one spoke for all were dumbfounded. None had ever been to Lorién and as they drank in the sight, the company's troubles seemed to recede and seem less daunting. 

Nephryn smiled as she watched the awe play on the faces of the fellowship. Even Legolas, who'd seen many lifetimes, was like a child, rapt by such a view, delighting in the magic. 

"Come!" Nephryn pulled on his arm, and the group moved as one into the fantasy. 

Ooooohhhh! I had sooo much fun writin this chap. Its such a nice change! Whaddya think? Want more???

R&R and you fic-fairy-writer shall happily grant your wish….


	9. Flaws Alike

It was late into the night when Nephryn had finally managed to settle the hobbits. There were complaints aplenty of how hobbits were unused to heights, and how difficult it would be to sleep. Pippen fretted noisily about how if he rolled in his sleep, he'd surely fall into the abyss below the mallorn trees. Nephryn had soothed them all, assuring them that never had such a thing occurred and even hobbits could not roll that far. They seemed to accept her at her word, and so they slept, albeit under the watchful eyes of Boromir, Gimli and two Woodland elves. 

Now Legolas sat comfortably on a long cushioned seat. He waited patiently for Nephryn, who was in the chamber beyond changing out of her working clothes. When she emerged, she wore a bodice of crushed silk, pale green in colour, embossed with delicate gold leaf patterns that snaked down the sleeve to the flared cuff. The skirt was slim fitted and flowed about her like liquid. She simply glowed, and for the third time that day, Legolas was bowled over. 

He stood as she entered the room, and then without warning both cast formality aside and the elf-prince swept her up in a tight embrace. Nephryn finally allowed her true emotions to flow as she buried one small fist in his hair and wrapped the other firmly around his neck while burying her face in the crook of his neck. They stood for a long while like that, immersed completely within one another, swaying listlessly to the unison beat of their hearts. 

"I have missed you so." 

The soft words came from Nephryn, muffled as she spoke through her hands. She felt Legolas shudder in response. She knew well that only his matched her sense of loss and yearning. 

"When I came here, I became unwell again. As though my body did not want to go on without you. It was such a struggle to regain what I had at Rivendell with you." 

Legolas broke away from the embrace then, frowning at what the elf-maid spoke of. He stood back from her and carefully surveyed her. Certainly she did look in the whole of her health now. 

"You saw you deteriorated when you left. How so?" 

Nephryn lead him over to the long chaise, where they sat. She cupped his hand in hers and held them on her lap. 

"When I arrived, I was exhausted. I slept for neigh on seven days. The healer, even Galadriél herself thought that I was to pass from this world, for I ate and drank nothing for that time. When I woke, I did not speak for another week. I am only truly regaining my strength these past weeks. But none could understand what had happened for my wound was almost fully healed when I arrived."

Legolas could not help himself and he leaned in close, caressing her cheek as she gazed thoughtfully into the night beyond. Her smooth cool skin delighted his fingertips and he found that she was equally eager for the touch of his skin on hers. She turned her gazed on him then, and he was utterly entranced. Wide doe eyes, glistening liquid emerald drank in the sight of him, too long only drawing on blissful memories for sustenance. When the distance between them, mere inches, was more than she could bear, Nephryn bent forward pulling his arms around her. Legolas was obliged willingly, encircling her within the taut sway of his body. One hand swept up her back, relishing the feel of delicate bones nestled beneath a veil of ivory skin, while the other supported her lolling head as she succumbed to the need to be wholly held by him.

They lazed like that for a seeming eternity. The night air chilled the room and diamond stars punctuated the darkened heavens as though the sky were a suffocating blanket pierced by thousands of pins, spilling light from the brighter realms beyond. Yet, as Legolas stood there with Nephryn, lulled by the rhythmic beat of her heart against his, he truly did not care if the sun never rose to grace another day.

Nephryn murmured something unintelligible into the fabric of his tunic. He had neither the energy nor the will to break the comfortable silence that had settled between them, so his fingers sought out her lips, gently guiding her face to his. She smiled as she finally rose up, stopping when they were face to face, the noses almost touching.

"We ought to take a walk. It is a beautiful night and in winter, Lorién is best appreciated at night. Will you come?" 

Legolas ran his hand from her temple back through her thick ebony tresses and down only to her bare neck. He drew a tortured whimper from her and her eyes fell shut as she swayed gently in his buzzing presence. 

"I will." Nephryn's eyes flew open, as though she'd forgotten her invitation. She smiled shyly, a delicate blush creeping up the apple of her cheeks, knowing that she'd been caught out. She was about to speak when he held up his hand.

"But only if you promise to stay with me tonight." 

"I would not have it any other way, my beloved." 

Not minutes later, having finally conquered the swelled urge to remain inside for the remainder of the night, Legolas stood behind Nephryn draping a heavy grey cloak over her narrow shoulders. He had no need for he still wore his tunic. As they stepped outside, the frigid air caught their breaths in flimsy swirls. Intuitively, the elf-maid's hand sought out Legolas's hand and together, leaning tightly into one another, they walked out into the night. 

They did not notice the bright, twinkling eyes that observed them from the shadows. Aragorn was restless, and occupied with thoughts of the day days that lay before them. As he walked, allowing the listless air and hushed night sounds to envelope his senses, the presence to the elven couple had almost gone unnoticed by him. But for the soft burble of laughter that broke the eerie quiet, he would have continued on his quest to lay to rest the beasts that plagued his thoughts and thwarted sleep. 

As he watched, he saw in both what others surely saw in him when Arwen was with him. He'd been the first to admit that the deep bond that had flourished between prince and maid was sudden, but as he looked on now, there was no doubt in his mind but that the bond was as real as his own and as strong. The embers of a deep abiding love glowed bright in the elf-prince's eyes. In all the years he'd known Legolas, never before had he witnessed such presence about the elven prince, but then never before had Legolas found in another a soul that so completed his own. But if was true, he knew that too much love could kill you. Elrond had spoken with him only once of the love there existed between he and wife. 

__

It will wane the fire that is in you. For true love, you will break all the rules and discard your own morals. For this love is the deadliest kind. You begin to dread the day you might lose them for you know that that is the day you will cease to truly exist. The pain of that fear will make you crazy and your become the victim of your crime. It can be both the port in roughest storm and the storm itself.

As the pair walked into the misty night, Aragorn watched the instinctive gravitational pull between them and yearned that his love was with him, soothing away the seeming insurmountable troubles. Arwen was the unwavering unfailing presence amidst his ever-present self-doubt and he missed her sorely, more with every passing hour. 

"It seems the elves have found in one another some solace in the darkest of hours."

Though the words sounded genuine and even profound, the smirk on Boromir's ragged face suggested that his observations were less than sincere. He stood behind Aragorn, leaning sullenly against the bole of a tall mallorn. He gestured to the fading figures of the elves and snorted weakly.

"Everything about their kind is quiet and devious: the way that they speak, fight even love. It is unearthly." 

Aragorn bristled at the unkind remarks. Truly his upbringing and life was more elven than most. He owed his life to Elrond and his heart to Arwen. As he turned to face the man, Aragorn was surprised to see that Boromir was watching the spot where Legolas and Nephryn last stood with a mixture of envy and resentment. 

"You would rather the girl-elf would not have risked her neck to save ours?" 

Boromir was drawn out of his ponderings by the question and his face darkened at the insinuations. He raised his chin defiantly and struck the sturdy trunk defiantly.

"I did not say that! I am, as are we all, grateful for her timely intervention. I simply do not care for their habits and customs."

"And yet you are more than agreeable to accept their aid, however unsavoury you find their ways. How hypocritical of you! Such a typical response from a man! Do you not see that were it not for those devious beings, we would not live today?" 

By now, their voices had escalated and had shattered the still hush of their surroundings. Boromir's eyes flashed with rage. The idea that elves were saviours of men was an ideal only pandered to by the elves themselves. A man, supposed heir to the throne of Gondor stood their, waxing the elves praises. Boromir was incensed. He fingered the hilt of the knife that nestled comfortably at his hip and when he could contain his ire no more, he whipped it out and flung it roughly at the tree trunk. The wood splintered as the blunted blade embedded itself in its folds. 

Aragorn stared at him, astonished. He frowned deeply, unable to comprehend why the man disliked the elves so. 

"Do you not realise that it was men's weakness that first brought the bane of Sauron upon us and were it not for the bravery of the elves at Dagorlad, we would likely be minions of the Dark Lord. In fact it is the unwavering stupidity and failings of men that has us one this doomed Quest in the first place." 

Boromir paced in angry circles now, breaths coming in rough snorts as he bore unwilling ears to the harsh truths Aragorn rendered. He regarded the Ranger with squinted eyes

"Yes! It was your flawed ancestor Isildur that failed the men! It is not merely I who is a weak man of Gondor. You also bear the weight of the past failures of our kind." 

"Yes! I do. Why then is it only I who can see the continuous sacrifice made by elves. They remedied our mistakes at Dagorlad a millennia ago at the loss of their High-King. And still they stand with us. Even Elrond, he who has witnessed the repeat of such mistakes over and over, is still willing to lend us aid in our hour of need. And you stand before me and slate their customs. I will not have it. I tell you solemnly that if you speak ill of such wondrous creatures again, it shall be the last thing you ever say." 

Boromir stared at him then, having ceased his pacings. He held Aragorn's penetrating stare for a long while, a myriad of emotions playing across his expressive features. At last he seemed to decide that there was nothing to say that could respond to such a declaration. He reached out and pulled hard of the hilt of the knife and wrenched it from the trunk. With that, he turned and walked away, his stance a curious fusion of defiance and defeat.

Energy spent, Aragorn sighed and leaned heavily against the tree trunk. How would the fellowship proceed now? They had lost their most powerful ally Gandalf the Grey to the abysmal depths of Khazad Dûm and now the group appeared to be splintering rapidly under the crushing weight of their duties. Legolas, he knew would die for the cause but would love equally spend his last days by Nephryn's side. The hobbits were resolute in the face of danger but only because they had not faced anything like it before. Gimli, though steady and brave, was descended from a race who'd turned their backs on Middle Earth once before. Boromir would follow them to the depths of Mordor, but in the belief that what was being achieved was for Gondor and Gondor alone. And at that very moment, even Aragorn himself wanted for nothing more than the soothing cooling presence of his Evenstar. 

"You doubt yourself. It is truly the straightest road to defeat." 

The deep timbre came again from behind for once more Aragorn had not heard anyone approach. Lord Celeborn stood solemnly behind him, hands clasped within folds of an elegant blue robe. He bowed lightly and Aragorn did the same. They stood in silence for a long time as Aragorn tried to respond in some way to the elf-lord's shrewd observations.

To his dismay, Aragorn found that he could not argue with the truth. Celeborn seemed to see his acceptance and continued in soft tones

"All is not lost. There are a great many obstacles ahead, but they are not insurmountable so long as you have faith in yours and your friends' abilities. I know that you doubt only their resolve but that falters only when yours does."

"I am not their leader. I am one of eight. We are equals."

"It is not so. You are a born leader and whether you wish it so or not, all will look to you for direction, even strong-minded Boromir. You feel that the loss of Mithrandir was the fatal blow in the undermining of the fellowship. It is not so. Still you persist, as you must for the sake of all. Do not let your hope falter now, not when you have come so far already." 

Aragorn shook his head vehemently exhaling loudly, trying to keep his anger at the impossible odds in check. 

"Have we really come that far? We must get the Ring to Mordor. The Dark lord has more allies than there are talking creatures. All stand against us and now we seem to stand against each other. I believe our progress falls woefully short."

Celeborn placed a solid hand on Aragorn's shoulder, causing the man to look up. In the elf-lord's wise eyes, Aragorn saw an unshakeable determination, a steadfast belief in the cause undertaken by an unlikely group, and he took solace from the fact that such a wise and long-standing creature saw fit to place faith in them. 

"You will have audience with the Lady tomorrow. You have not come here by chance. There is a reason for everything. I have learned this over many millennia of experience." 

With out another word, Celeborn turned and disappeared with the same stealth with which he'd arrived. Aragorn was alone once more, with only his thoughts for company and the branded memories of Evenstar as succour. He pulled his heavy cloak closer around him, the chill finally beginning to seep through to his bones. 

It was time to rest, he decided. Standing here in worry would achieve nothing more than weighing down further his already tired limbs.


	10. Invading Darkness

Ok, here is where I really start adding in the extra bits. Nephryn's link to the Ring will be revealed soon (but not quite in this chapter) , so ya better keep them reviews comin!! 

PS thanks to Lynliss for the always constructive reviews. And off course to every one else who endures the very long tale of romance and woe. Thanks guys!! 

As the Nephryn walked by Legolas's side, she was compelled to lean in closer for warmth. The night that had started chill and clear had descended quickly into freezing mist that clung wetly to their garments. The sickle moon cast a luminescent blanket over the mist and soon their hands before them disappeared into the thick silver abyss. 

Legolas pulled up short beside her, tugging her to a halt with him. He passed out a hand in front of him, cutting through the thick film that surrounded them. He frowned, as it seemed to swarm around his hand, completely engulfing it. He pulled back his hand, as though stung by something. 

"This is not natural. Has this ever happened before?" 

Nephryn clung tightly to one arm as the vapour seemed to come alive, clawing its way through her layers, fingering her warm skin with sharp freezing digits. The hairs on the back of her neck stood and she felt that mist was harbouring some dark force within its opaque folds. The pale cast of the moon was gone now and they were utterly enveloped by the heavy mist.

"No! I fear that it is the doing of dark forces." 

She did not get the chance to finish for Legolas pulled her face roughly toward him, crying out.

"Your lips!" Nephryn's hand went instantly to her chapped lips. She frowned for there was no blood on her fingertips.

"They are blue. You are freezing!" He pulled out her hand that was tucked into his arm, holding it up. Sure enough, the base of each nail was a sickly blue-grey. 

"We must get back to the city. Can you find your way?" 

Nephryn nodded though already her feet felt numb and her knees weak. They turned as one and began to run back the way they came. The fog was so thick that they could not see obstacles until the fell over them. Several times they stumbled, falling roughly to the ground, grazing palms and bruising limbs. Soon Nephryn closed her eyes, letting the familiar ground under her feet guide her back, trusting Legolas to keep at bay any unforeseen enemies.

Their breathing became laboured as the icy air burned in their lungs. Still they ran on. All around them, Nephryn could hear panicked voices of her kin. This was unlike anything seen in the mystical Golden Woods. 

Though her eyes were still tightly shut, the elf-maid could feel dizziness pull at her fragile balance and darkness tear at the edges of her mind. Her face hurt now as the biting breeze pushed back the hood on her cloak. Beside her, she heard Legolas grunt in pain for he wore less garments than she. She was terrified now, for elves bore an inherent fear of the darkness, and the fog that threatened to suffocate them completely was the very embodiment of darkness.

Suddenly, Legolas slowed and stopped, pulling Nephryn with him. The abrupt stop made her head swim and she swayed wildly until Legolas caught her in his embrace. Warily, she forced open one eye. Ahead, muted light shone from beyond the mist and muffled voices broke through the blanket.

"Aid!" She pulled forward out of Legolas's warm embrace, yearning to be away from the all-encompassing darkness. 

"No!" Legolas pulled her back, pointing with one finger to another dull light. The light moved in an arc, back and forth.

"It is a trick! This way is safe." Nephryn needed no further convincing for she trusted the elf-prince implicitly. 

Still huddled in his arms, they moved toward the true lights. Soon they found several Woodland elves, bearing sparkling phials that cast off a great light. Minutes later they were back in the city. There were crowds of very frightened elves for never before had the dark forces come so close to their beloved homeland. 

Before them, Celeborn cut through the crowd with Aragorn on his heels. Legolas kept one arm firmly around Nephryn's slim waist and moved toward the elf-lord. The concerned elf-lord descended on them, relief evident on his face. Truly he must have worried for her safety. 

"Thanks be to Elbereth you are safe!" He took her chin gently, angling her dazed face toward him searching for any injury. 

She batted his hands away, trying to banish the stupor and look lively. 

"I am fine. We both are. Please see to those who are in real need!" Celeborn stood back and surveyed her once more. Satisfied that she spoke the truth, he placed a loving hand on her cheek before departing into the foray. 

Aragorn remained, shock and anger written plainly on his face.

"The Dark Lord grows ever stronger if he can penetrate the stronghold of Nenya. I had hoped that this sacred place would be free from such evils." 

Legolas nodded as he stroked Nephryn's hair murmuring soothing reassurances. 

"I will go and check that the rest of the company is well. Perhaps you ought take her to the Lady?" Aragorn nodded once to Legolas and departed after Celeborn. 

Legolas felt Nephryn loll in his arms, the need to keep strong appearances gone. Swiftly he swept her into his arms and she willingly tucked her head into his chest, stifling the sobs that shook her slender frame. He took her back to her chamber and set her down gently on the bed. Pulling on the clasp, he removed the cloak that was soaked through now. With shaking hands, he pushed back the curtain of ebony hair that obscured her face. 

The elf-prince was shocked by what he saw. In the brighter light now Nephryn's features were pale and grey, partly from the cold and partly from fear. It seemed that the cold had dried and cracked her lips, and tiny veins of blood seeped through on them, making her face seem even more ashen. She reached out trembling arms, begging to be held. 

He could not deny her. Pausing only to remove his damp, frozen tunic, he slipped onto the bed beside her and drew her into his arms once more. He cradled her against him, one hand smoothing hair away from her face while the other held her close, trying to impart some of his own warmth to her. He sprinkled light kisses over her face, catching her tears on his lips, willing away her fear with soft words and gentle embrace.

Hours later, her tears had subsided and her body stilled and she slept, lulled by his comforting presence and warm body. But Legolas could not sleep. Though the cold had drained him physically and the fear that he might have lost Nephryn left him utterly spent, he could not banish the fears that plagued him now. The only reason he'd agreed to sending his beloved to Lorién was because it was a fortress, which had been heretofore impenetrable by the dark forces. Tonight though, that had changed. He knew that he could not and would not leave her when time came to depart. But neither could he abandon his duties to the fellowship. The fate of Middle Earth would weigh heavily on its success in banishing the Ring once and for all eternity. 

The prospect of losing her froze his heart more than any evil spell and he knew that whatever might have happened before today was no more. Fortunes had turned and Lothlorién was no longer the safe haven. When exhaustion finally compelled him to sleep, it was with open eyes he rested for he would not waste a single moment with her when it might be the last. 

Ok, let me know: have I gone completely off the walls or should I keep at it??


	11. Bound

Ok, ladies, lords cookie-fic-fans and everyone who don't fall under any of the aforementioned titles, here it is: how the girlie is linked to the dreaded ONE RING (Oooo! Spooky, every time I write that "one ring" bit!!) Anyway let me know watcha think: have I lost it, am I a few fries short of a happy meal?? I have been studying pretty much constantly for boring college, so the brain cells could be all crinkly and dried up…

When dawn splintered the darkness that loomed heavy over Lothlorién, it was with a heavy heart that its people rose up to live their day. The Golden Wood had been shaken to the core by the events of the previous night. The morning heralded news that three Woodland elves had died, their breaths stolen from their bodies by the icy mist. Elves were not born to die and Lothlorién would mourn their deaths for many moons.

Aragorn had barely slept and now as he patrolled through the Wood city, he felt the faint nausea of fatigue rise up. There was a heavy presence about the place and many elves regarded him with suspicion for all but the most mundane things were to be feared at that moment. As he approached the court of the Lady of the Wood he paused, and kneeling down on one knee he bent his head in respect of those lost. 

He was announced quickly and entered without preamble. The court itself was majestic and breathtaking, as most things in this wondrous place appeared to be. He bowed lightly before the Queen and waited for her to speak. 

As he looked up he was transfixed. Galadriél sat before him, tall even though she was seated. She radiated beauty and wisdom. Long locks of spun gold cascaded down her shoulders and back. She wore flowing robes of purest white and though her skin was pale like porcelain, it glowed as though light and not blood coursed through her veins. It was very difficult for Aragorn to grasp that this magnificent creature was grandmother to Arwen. Her face bore no mark of such an age but as he stared into her eyes of azurite blue, he saw in them a depth of wisdom, knowledge and power that surpassed anything he'd previously witnessed. She was slender and tall, like all of her kind but even seated, she carried her head with regal grace and looked on him with such kindness and love that he found only in those closest to him. 

"Please rise up. You have no need to bow before me. We are equal creatures in the eyes of the Illúvatar. You are most welcome to Lorién, though it is a time of trouble. I would like that you would see it when we are at our most peaceful." 

Aragorn inclined his head slightly at the unspoken invitation that he would return to the Wood. He tried to voice some response but words failed him utterly. He felt completely inadequate in the presence of such wisdom and greatness. 

"Please. Tell me of the fate of Mithrandir. My husband has told me that he is lost to darkness, but he knows not how." 

"Gandalf sacrificed himself to save Frodo and the rest of the company from the wrath of a Balrog that dwelt in the depths of Moria. We would have been lost at Khazad Dûm were it not for him, and now without him I feel we are lost anyway." 

"His loss will be felt most profoundly and I personally will mourn his passing. But you are not lost, nor is your cause. But I would speak to you privately on this matter. First, will you tell me of your fellowship?" 

Aragorn could speak comfortably on something he knew so well and he told the Elf-queen of their escapades on the Caladhras and in Moriả. He spoke with high regard of the skill and bravery of Legolas, Boromir and Gimli and he told of the determination and steady presence of the hobbits, who of all of them were the least equipped for such an epic undertaking but had the most courage and persistence of all. Galadriél seemed enthralled by his words of high praise. When he finished, she smiled openly.

"I does my heart glad that the fellowship is lead so well by someone who has so much respect and loyalty for those he travels with. This does bode well for your quest. Come with me, for I would speak with you on an important matter." 

Galadriél stood, drawing herself to her full height, towering over Aragorn. She led him into a smaller room where she indicated that he should sit. As he did, the elf-queen went to a long window and drew back the gauze curtain, and sunlight spilled into the room. 

"The fellowship was nine. Elrond chose nine so that you would be evenly matched against the Úlairi. The sad and unexpected departure of Gandalf the Grey now means that you are outmatched once more." 

Aragorn nodded in agreement, the reality of the situation weighing on his heart.

"I have studied elven lore and prophecies at length and I have consulted the Mirror. The way to my eyes is clear, though it does not make my heart glad. You must take another from Lothlorién to aide in your quest."

Aragorn frowned at this. The task that they undertook was dangerous and it was not something one would volunteer for unless one had great skill and desire. 

"It is a kind offer, and I'm sure that it would be appreciated by the rest of the company but I could not ask you to place anyone else in such harm."

Galadriél's featured darkened and she turned away from him toward the light to hide her dismay and anguish. But she had considered what she was about to propose for a long time. It was the only way to conquer the darkness and for the sake of all, it was necessary.

"You misunderstand me Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I do not offer. The prophecies will it to be so. In order for you to have any chance at success, this must be so."

"You realise the dangers I'm sure, so I will not question you further. But who am I to take: a warrior, strong and skilled, a healer who will undoubtedly be needed. Whoever it may be, let it be known that he may never return here."

Galadriél sat again, feeling the weight of her decision weaken her resolve to continue. _It must be_ her mind screamed. 

"The one who shall accompany you is both a skilled warrior and learned in elven lore and magic. This one bears a strength derived from the life force of the Ring. You will take Nephryn." 

Though her voice was steady and unwavering, her heart shuddered as the words left her lips. She felt as though she would be condemning the elf-girl to death and darkness once more. It was almost more than her heart could bear, but for the fact that the quest would be in vain if Nephryn did not accompany them.

"No!" Aragorn whispered, his face slack with shock. 

"No!! I will not take a defenceless elf-girl, pure of heart and bright in mind to the very centre of hell on this earth! I will not take her. Legolas will not allow it and she will not be willing. She has survived so much to return here to you and you would condemn her to such a fate. NO! I will not be party to it!"

Aragorn dropped his head into his hands, breathing heavily. The thought of bringing such a creature into such a world was so undesirable to his mind that he could not even consider it. Beyond the simmering anger, he heard a soft sigh and looked up to see the glorious Galadriél crying. 

"Do you not think that I abhor this? Do you not think that I, wisest and most powerful of all elves in this land, would find another way if there were one? Do you not think that I have not looked?!" 

She took a deep breath and banished the tears, speaking again more assuredly. 

"Nephryn is a creature of higher being. It is destiny that she will be at Mordor. When the Ring surfaced, her power began to grow. You yourselves saw how quickly she recovered at Imladris. I witnessed her decline when she arrived here for Lothlorién is protected from the effects of the Ring."

Galadriél saw the look of incredulity of the man's face and knew that she had to explain further, in order that he see the full implication of bringing Nephryn along with them. 

When Sauron first forged the Ring, you know that in order to make the Ring binding, he poured some of his own lifeforce into it, but in order for its power to be absolute, some of its power must be stored outside the Ring. He intended that the one should bear a mark and then the power would be imparted by magical means. Before she was abducted, Nephryn had no strength beyond a gift for the art of Elven enchantment, the like of which I have never before witnessed. At Mordor, Sauron imparted to her some minute amount of the Ring's force. His intention was that she remain with him until he'd arisen to full strength."

Aragorn stared at the elf queen horror and disbelief contorting his dark features. He could not grasp that, in their very midst was a small portion of the evil that festered at Orodruin, and Sauron had inflicted upon the fairest and most unwitting of creatures. 

"If she leaves the boundaries, she will be as strong and fast and able as any of you. She has been taught in the ways of Elven enchantment.  She will not need protecting any more than you will."

Aragorn shook his head tiredly. This saving grace seemed fall to simplistic to be the solution to all of their problems. He saw in the expression of the elf-queen that there was more to this than what she spoke of.

"But there was no such being when Sauron first rose out of the darkness. There is more?" He murmured wearily.

"Alas there is. You have seen the mark Nephryn bears on her arm?" 

Aragorn remembered it well. Gandalf had pondered the black emblem at length. Though it had been familiar to him, he'd been unable to recognise it. 

"It is the mark of the Valar. The bearer of this symbol is known as the vessel. There was one vessel that walked Middle Earth in the Second Age. The Dark Lord did not discover it until after it had passed on from this life. If Sauron holds the Ring and the vessel, he may extend his dark reign beyond the boundaries of Middle Earth to the Undying Lands. But without the vessel, you will not be able to defeat him." 

For a long time, Aragorn simply stared at the elf-queen. They could not defeat Sauron without Nephryn, and yet if she were to fall into his clutches, all hope of victory would surely be lost. He wondered whether this was help or a hindrance. 

"You say that she will not need protecting?" He spoke with an incredulous tone.

"She will come to no deliberate harm from Sauron for the power of the mark dies with her passing."

Aragorn considered this for a long time, turning the possibilities over and over in his mind. Certainly their chances were improved with this, but equally the cost of failure was very high. Long had the Undying Lands been removed from such threats. 

"Who knows of this?" 

"Nephryn herself does not know. My husband and I have known since you arrived yesterday with the Ring. And now you know."

"And you will tell her and no one else?"

"As leader of the fellowship, it is for you to decide who ought to be aware of the implications of Nephryn accompanying you. I will inform Nephryn immediately. I believe that she herself will tell Legolas."

Ok, where will they all go from here?? R&R and I'll gladly post up the next bit. Please please please: I'm quite desparate for reviews, I'll do pretty much anything.

P.S. thanks to all who've reviewed so far: very constructive. I know I've a couple of typos, so if anyone wants to volunteer as a beta, I'd be more than grateful…


	12. Unseeing Eyes

All right kiddies: will news of her yuckie fate bring Nephryn to her knees (in the 'oh dear I can't handle this' sense and _no_ other sense, thank you!!) or will she emerge the strong shiny Mary Sue-ish thrive-under-pressure type gal?? Well what do think??? Read on and find out, sillies (do I have to tell ya to do everything??)

Ps, sorry this one took so long. Also thanks to all who gave the thumbs up on chapter 11, its good to know I'm on the semi-right track… keep those reviews coming…. 

Legolas lay awake as the morning sun filtered through the heavy cloud that had settled over Lorién. The glare of light on white walls did not affect him for he knew that if he stirred at all, the fair maid that lay slumbering in his embrace would awaken and the self-made illusion that all was right in his world would be shattered by the rough edges of reality. So he lay, squinting in the brightness, breathing in her scent and lulled by the steady thump of her heart against his.

Nephryn lay slouched in his arms, her bare arms and clothed torso covering most of his bare chest. His hands were twined in her hair, relishing the luxuriant feel of her. So lost in illusions and waking dreams was Legolas that he almost did not hear the subtle tap on the door. 

The elf-prince was reluctant to break the silence but he could not invite just anyone into Nephryn's inner sanctuary. 

"Who is it?" He whispered, trying to be loud enough to be heard by their visitor but not so loud as to wake the slumbering elf-maid in his arms.

A voice answered from beyond, equally quiet, "It is Aragorn. I would speak with you urgently." He did not wait for further invitation and gently pulled open the door. 

Aragorn looked as rested as Legolas felt. He'd not changed clothes since yesterday and his shoulders were set with worry and preoccupation. He did not look even the slightest bit surprised by the sight of Legolas lying with Nephryn in his arms. 

"What is it that has you so obviously worried?" 

Aragorn hesitated briefly, trying to decide whether Legolas ought to know what awaited the elf-maid rather than her telling him herself. It was not his place, he decided quickly.

"The Lady wishes to speak urgently with Istriél." 

Afraid if he lingered, his loyalties would coax an explanation, Aragorn nodded once to Legolas and departed quickly.

Legolas watched as the man strode out of the room. Something was amiss. That was obvious from the unusual awkwardness with which the man spoke to him. In his arms, Nephryn stirred and her clear green eyes fluttered open. She did not smile because she could see immediately that something was wrong. 

She sat up quickly, a slim hand hovering on his brow as though she was trying to sweep away a frown. 

"What is wrong?" 

Legolas shook his head lightly and took her hand in his, pressing light kisses on her cool fingers. He closed his eyes as she swept soft palms over his temples, banishing the pain that might otherwise settle for the day. 

"Galadriél wishes to speak with you presently. I know not why." 

Nephryn dropped her hands and folded them neatly in her lap. When she looked up, tears had pooled in her bejewelled eyes. 

"Elves died last night. Never before has it happened that Woodland elves have died by the hands of darkness in our own realm. It is a sad day." 

Legolas sat up and took her by both arms. He leaned in towards her until their foreheads touched. He stared straight into her eyes as though trying to see into her soul. 

"I will avenge their deaths, I promise you." 

Nephryn nodded and pulled him close capturing his lips with hers, pressing passionate warm kisses on him, and twining her hands in his hair drawing him ever closer until every part of them was touching. Drawing back at last for breath, Nephryn inhaled deeply, forcing back the lust the Elf-prince roused in her. 

"I must go," she stated firmly, a twinkle glinting subtly in her tired eyes. 

She slipped off the bed and disappeared behind a screen. Legolas averted his eyes and when she re-emerged, she wore long slim robes of burnt ruby and gilded gold. As she walked past him to depart, he pulled her back and drew her to him for one last embrace. 

"I will await your return," he murmured softly.

Nephryn nodded once and rising onto to her toes, pressed a chaste kiss to his fair brow before pulling away abruptly. If she did not leave right now_,_ she mused, she might never.

She scurried quickly through crowds that had kept a nightlong vigil against the receding evil. There was a whetted edge of tension in the air that cut through the cosy appearances. Fear branded plainly on the faces of elves, old and young alike, brought to the City of Light an eerie aura. Features bathed in sunlight still dreaded the doom that hovered at the peripheries of their existences. It brought shivers to Nephryn's limbs and urged her onward toward her destination. 

The court of Galadriél was silent. Many of her attendants probably rested or kept vigil outside. Still it was unusual, and a fair mark of the strange events of the past night, for the dwelling to be so devoid of life. 

Nephryn was so intent on her way that she hurried past the entrance to a small, secluded terrace without noticing that it was not deserted. Only when her name was carried on a gentle voice behind her, did Nephryn stop and redouble. Galadriél stood, clad in customary robes of white tulle and lace, hands clasped expectantly before her, a ghost of a smile dawdling on her pale lips.

She did not say anything, merely beckoning with her eyes that Nephryn follow her onto the terrace.

As the elf-maid stepped out onto the terrace, the stunning vista stole her breath. From here all on the glorious Wood could be seen, and from such a distance that one could imagine that all was well in the realm. It reminded her all the more of how quickly it had all changed last night. 

"You mourn the loss of Lothlorién of yesteryear. You feel bereft and angry." 

The elf-queen's sharp observations caught Nephryn unawares and she looked up to see compassion and even empathy tinge Galadriél's features. Nephryn shrugged in silence, for she could not dispute what was so obviously true. She pulled away from the dreamlike scene before her to give her full attention to her Queen. 

"What is that you wish to speak on so urgently?" 

Galadriél looked at her closely, schooling her expression so as not to alarm the elf-maid. 

"I would speak with you about the mark you bear. I believe I have deciphered its significance…."

From that moment, time crawled and blurred. Nephryn heard all of what her queen spoke of, accepted all that was asked of her and seemed for all the world to be attuned to what was being said. Some portion of her being knew to respond appropriately to all the asked questions and follow all the prompts but as Galadriél dismissed her, stating that she should consider carefully what was being asked of her, Nephryn realised that some part of her had died on that terrace.  She existed in a bubble, removed from realities. The sounds and sights around her were muted and blurred. She barely had the presence of mind to bow graciously to the elf-queen -the bearer of her doom- before she left the dwelling.

She would return to the dark crypts of Mordor from which she'd barely escaped with her sanity, that place that now only existed in her darkest dreams, and she would do so willingly at Galadriél's bidding. The cruel irony was not lost on her, and it brought twisted smile to her pallid face.

She walked with unseeing eyes back the way she'd come, stumbling through crowds trying to push from the edges of her vision the blackness that pulled at her balance. 

She was mere feet away from her chamber when she realised that she could not go in. Legolas was inside and she knew that if she saw him, the words would slip out and the woeful tale of her mocking destiny would be imparted to him. No, he had enough to occupy his mind. Better for all that she accept this in her own time, in her own mind, so that all could be spared from this colossal burden. It was hers, and hers alone to bear. 

Well there ya have it: nevous-breakdown extraodinaire, but personally I can't blame the girl. But will she really not tell Leggies, and if she does tell, how will the pointy-eared fair-faced one react. Will he be the proverbial pillar/tower/tall structure of strength or will wackiness ensue??? Chap 12 will tell all and will be posted follow on foot of reviews of this chapter. You have been warned…


	13. Keeper

A huge big thanks to (big deep breath for long list!!): Jaded, Carneundomeiel, Elenya Tindomiel, Lynliss, Achoo, Skya, and especially to Celena (who took the time and interest to critique my epic size story and offer her brain as a beta). Thanks for all the reviews, cos there just what you need to keep you motivated. I never realised how important reviews were until I started writing (or something like writing!!) myself. Now I try to review everything I read. And now, chapter 13: does Leggies have a dark side (no!! BLASPHEMY!!) 

(This is kinda loooong. Sorry)

Aragorn had left the Court of Galadriél not minutes before Nephryn, having gone there to speak with her after Galadriél had spoken with her. He'd changed his mind though, believing that she would go to Legolas for comfort and council. He walked now with heavy feet, meandering through the slowly thinning elf presence. This news was both a blessing and a curse. It complicated things infinitely and at the same time, it made their impossible task seem slightly less so. 

He was unaware of anything around him until a slender figured brushed past him, running at speed. He looked up, squinting the early morning light and he could make out the stream of ebony hair that reeled around the fleeing figure as that of Nephryn's. Obviously she had not returned to Legolas as he'd assumed she would. Though he couldn't hope to catch her, he picked up his pace to a quick jog so that he might keep her in his sights. 

To this end, he soon found himself sprinting at full tilt for the elf-maid, though shorter than him was light and fast. Suddenly, she disappeared from view. He slowed down and began to scan the surrounding areas for any sign of the young elf. Feeling the pinch of his brief run now, he walked up a small crest. They had ventured beyond the city now and tall mallorn trees were dotted all around, their wide canopy catching the beams of light and releasing them at random. The effect was breathtaking. The ground was spattered with light as though the ceiling above had been punched through with millions of tiny pinholes. 

He was lost in the scenery until the heavy breaths of someone other than himself caught his ears. He crept forward slowly, and peaked over the low hedge at the swell of the crest. Below, hunkering down in the corner, Nephryn Istriél sat on her haunches, knees pulled up to her chest, dark tresses spilling over her shoulders obscuring the tears that he could hear. She rocked slowly back and forth, as though trying to conjure some comforting figure to soothe away her fears. 

Aragorn was a man of many years and much experience. He'd seen many awful things but the sight before him broke his heart completely. So heavy a burden she had to bear, and so alone she was now. He wished that Arwen were here to offer the kind of comfort she most needed now. But she was not here, and so it fell to him. 

Quietly he hopped over the thicket and edged down the steep bank. When he landed, his weight made the carpet of twigs and leaves rustle and the startled elf's head whipped up, frightened eyes darting over him with fear. 

Aragorn held up both hands and met her panicked eyes with his own steady gaze. She relaxed visibly when she recognised him, but made no move to explain her reasons for being here or the cause of her tears.

In the end, it was he that had to break the silence. 

"Galadriél spoke to me of the Mark of the Vessel." 

Nephryn exhaled loudly at this, as though she'd hoped that this information would remain hers alone. She hung her head again, but did not cry. Her tears seemingly spent, she simply rocked back and forth trying to assimilate all that had happened. 

When she spoke at last, it was with a reed-thin whisper.

"Are you angered that I must accompany you?" 

Aragorn could not hold back the incredulous smile that broke his solemn expression. So like his Evenstar that she cared only for the well being of others when it was her own that ought to concern her. She looked on, confused and exasperated by his reaction. 

"It is a serious matter that you choose to laugh on!" She muttered, frowning deeply.

Aragorn moved closer and leaned against the trunk of a fallen tree, mere feet away from where the elf sat. 

"I am not angry at you for none of this is your doing. I am angry with those who would see fit to saddle you with such a loathsome burden. You have done nothing to deserve it. You have borne with dignity all that has befallen you in your lifetime. For that you have nothing but my respect and admiration." 

Nephryn's green eyes widened at this and she inclined her head at the compliment. 

"Thank you." 

"While this revelation might ease our task, you know as I do that it raises the risk also. But you are skilled, and you will be no burden to us. Indeed, we will be glad of your company, though I wish it were under different circumstances."

Nephryn said nothing to this. She sat perfectly still and gazed out into the forest, as though searching for some sign that this was a dream. Finding nothing to that end, she looked back to Aragorn, pulling back her long tresses with one hand.

"I am scared. I travelled long and fought hard to escape the clutches of the dark lord. My time spent there still haunts the recesses of my dreams. And now I must return there. I long for the comfort of my elf-love's arms but I cannot seek him out for he will draw out my plight. So I will go, but none save you will know the true purpose of my journey." 

Aragorn's face darkened at this and he shook his head.

"I believe that Legolas has a right to know."

Nephryn's features hardened in resolve and she stood crossing her arms across her narrow frame.

"What right has he to a burden that does not involve him?"

"He loves you: unashamedly, unabashedly, unconditionally. Your well-being is his and his yours. You will have in him, a strength and comfort you will find nowhere else. I know because I found that same comfort with Arwen and were this journey not long and dangerous, I would have her with me always."

"I will tell him in my own time. You will not break you silence on this matter." 

Aragorn simply nodded his assent; seeing that this was a matter that she would not budge on and feeling that this was the best compromise. He held a hand out to her, indicating that she should go with him.

"It is not safe here. Return to the city with me?" 

They walked quickly toward the city, moving in silence, each caught up in thoughts of their impending. As she walked, Nephryn pondered the single positive aspect of the new plans: she would be with Legolas. They would face the darkness together and if she had to choose anyone with which to trust her life, it was him. If, Elbereth forbid, he died in battle, by the Valar she would follow him there to the Halls of Mandos. The noble, romantic ideas made her smile, despite her otherwise gloomy thoughts. 

 Aragorn escorted her to her chamber. Before parting, he placed a supporting hand of her slim shoulder.

"I know you wish to spare him from this unpleasant news but do not dismiss how much a shared burdened can be lightened. He will bear the knowledge with courage. He will be your anchor in the stormy seas ahead. This is his way, do not underestimate him." 

Nephryn nodded, comforted because she believed what Aragorn said. He and Legolas were long time friends and the sincerity behind the man's words gave her heart. Gently, she pushed the door open and slipped into the room. Legolas sat on the bed, engrossed in one of her many texts on ancient elven theurgy. They'd long been her prized possession and she smiled to see him enthralled by them as she'd first been. Now she knew every page, every word, every description by heart and recited them in her sleep. 

The elf-prince looked up and smiled openly when he saw her. As she walked over to him, she schooled her features carefully so as not to reveal any tumultuous feelings. 

As she sat beside him, he pulled her close and she breathed in his warm scent, returning his firm embrace with equal vigour. He drew back and searched in her face, with clear bright eyes, for some hint of her meeting with Galadriél. 

"You have news?"  

Nephryn's gaze waned under his scrutiny and she fixed her eyes firmly on their entwined hands. 

"Indeed," she murmured, unsure as to how she ought to break the news to him.

"Is it bad?" 

The concern was immediately evident in his voice and his hands tightened around her own. She could not but look up to his face, if only to glimpse the love written so plainly on his face. 

"That depends very heavily on what you deem bad news to be. I am to join your fellowship. When you depart Lothlorién, I shall depart with you." 

As she spoke, the elf-maid's voice dwindled away to a whisper as though she were afraid of the backlash. Legolas's features were stilled. He held the slight elf-maid at arms length and he sifted for signs that this revelation was not as it appeared. A multitude of emotions skittered over his fair face: shock, confusion, anger, rage, and sadness.

At last, he released her, standing up and wandering over to the windows. He seemed mesmerized by the sights beyond, ignoring Nephryn completely. Still, she saw how his hands clenched until his knuckles boned white and his fists shook. His head was bowed, his fine flaxen locks falling over his face, shrouding the emotions that simmered there. 

"You will not go."

Legolas's low monotone broke the thick silence. Beneath the words, grim fortitude boiled. When he turned to her at last, his clear blue eyes were tinged with black rage. 

"Who insists that you would undertake such a task?" 

Nephryn was truly frightened as she watched him pace the length of the room like an incensed animal, caged only by a self-restraint born out of age. She sucked in deep breaths, as much to soothe her own frayed nerves as to cool the blistering tension. She licked her chaffed lips, watching nervously as he fixed her with a glare meant to draw the truth from her.

"No one insists." 

At this, he relaxed slightly breaking his long stare. 

"Then you will not go," he muttered softly, slowly regaining a grip on the turmoil within him.

"I must. No one insists, and yet it is necessary." 

Legolas growled angrily, thumping one fist against the wall. He breathed loudly, as though preparing to pounce. 

"Why must you be so stubborn!? How could it be necessary that you accompany us?"

"I cannot yet say," she murmured weakly, her lilting voice defying his loud, insistent tones. As the words left her lips, she saw hurt flash beneath the anger on his face, and knew instantly that he'd taken her need for secrecy as mistrust on her part.

"Do you not trust me?? Even after all that has happened?" he implored. Her small hands clenched into fists and she tried to keep the anger from surfacing in her voice, for even though she knew he was hurt by her silence, his words were meant to bring out the truth.

She looked up sharply, hurt and resentment flashing in her eyes. 

"You know that it is never that! I entrusted my body and soul to you the day we met! Don't question my loyalties, just to draw unwilling truths from me. Such devices do not become you Legolas, and I thought you respected me more than that!" 

As quickly as the rage had carried in her voice, it was gone and her eyes fell to the floor once more. As the silence gripped them like a raging fever, she sat unmoving on the bed, refusing to be baited into answering. She infuriated him! Did she not see what a ridiculous proposal this was?? White rage washed over him and he felt swamped completely by the need to keep her safe. She'd become the lifeblood that sustained him and she wished to put herself in harms way!

"You cannot go. I will not allow it," his gentle voice belied his firm words as he stood over her.

As the harsh instruction registered with her, Nephryn felt a fury burn within her. With those words, Legolas had become the very thing she'd fled from for so long. The perfidy and betrayal were so achingly clear to her that it took all her strength to suppress a sob. She stood and drew herself to her full height. She was almost eye-to-eye with him and she regarded him with eyes of liquid emerald. The slight elf-maid tilted her chin up and spoke softly.

"The very day I met you, you promised that I was my own keeper. You would believe now that you have my trust that you could exercise such power over me? You are no better than the White Devil!! I will speak with you no further until you address me with the respect I thought I'd earned long ago." 

She did not wait for a response for she knew none would be forthcoming. He was enraged, like she'd never before witnessed. She'd not even considered that such a gentle elf would be capable of such wrath. As she walked her entire body began to tremble uncontrollably. It seemed that, though never had so many allies surrounded her, she was utterly alone. Not in all her long months at Mordor or Isengard had that been so. She was alone in her own home. The bitter irony brought stinging tears to her eyes and minutes later, they tumbled freely once more.

OK, sorry about that. Things were going way too well, not even my life is that perfect. Besides, Legolas is all the more real if he has a pout every now and then. So now the question is: will things get better or has their "relationship" changed forever?? Look out for "The Great River", coming soon to an archive near you. 

Yeah ok. Its coming to this archive, in the next week. Jeez, I was just trying for a little suspense and enthusiasm. You lot are a right funny bunch. I can see you all right now. Ha ha, you mutter sarcastically. Ya well, be nice or there won't be a chapter 14. OK????

P.S. On a more practical note: my life has gotten a little more routine now, so you can expect an update every five days or so, unless there's huge delay, or a big cliffhanger. I'll let ya know…

Sorry also for the epic length author's note. I just don't know when to stop. Ya know me. Ok, I'll stop now.

Whoops, sorry. Getting carried away now. Just remember to read and review. Ok. I'm really stopping now. Sorry…


	14. Burned

Ok, I know. Minor faux pas on my part. I did in fact say that 'The Great River' was next but I did so in error. In fact, I wrote 'Burned' and nearly forgot about it cos it sadly reminded me of all the cheerless relationship-type issues in my life. Call it subjective forgetfulness, or a Freudian-some-thing-or-other. I dunno. Sorry anyway. Hope you like this one (i.e. let me know if I should call a halt to the mush). I know it meanders a bit, but it is necessary… 

Also, for the record: when Legolas 'slept' with Nephryn in Chapter 10 /11, I do mean literally only, i.e. they did not have sex. OK! That kind of thing is tantamount to marriage among the noble folk of Middle Earth and I'm not sure our young (three thousand years old) couple are quite ready for the nuptials. This clarification is especially for one nice reviewer who seemed to be rather shocked by the prospect…

Legolas was incensed. He stood in silence watching the door, hoping against all hope that the fiery elf-maid would return. He cursed the sun that rose to allow this day to even begin. He yearned to strike something, impart his anger onto something that would give it suitable release. He was enraged beyond anything he'd ever, in his long years, felt. 

The Elf-prince strode quickly out the door, pausing only to stoop and grab his longbow and quiver. On his route, he found several Woodland elves, who directed him to where he could practice. He thanked them quietly and took off at a run toward the range. 

As his feet flew faster and faster over the uneven land, he was instantly reminded of their panicked race through the mist and their narrow escape. He remembered vividly how his heart thudded wildly, though not from their fast pace. No, the mere thought of losing her to the darkness from which she'd escaped to brighten his days was enough to send his body and soul into frenzy. The painful hitch in her breath as they'd run had forced him on ever faster. The primal urge to ensure her safety had driven him far beyond his physical limits. Such was the love and devotion he felt. And now she wanted to put him through thrice that by accompanying them to Mordor!? 

When he reached the range, Legolas wasted no time and his bow sang as he nocked bow after bow and struck target after target. He was well into his third round of targets when he realised he was not alone. He slowly released the arrow and lowered the bow, raising an irritated eye to see who it was that had interrupted him. 

Aragorn stood tall on the crest overlooking range. He saluted briefly to the elf and then skirted down the steep slope. Legolas doubted that the man could have judged his mood from on high, but patient or no, the elf was in no mood for forced civility.

"Fair day Legolas!" Aragorn shouted across the range. Though he smiled, there was no heart behind the gesture. Legolas could tell that something had preoccupied him. 

He did not reply to the greeting, instead raising the bow and sighting down the arrow. He was about to release a shot when Aragorn boldly placed a hand on the bow, forcing it down. 

"What troubles you my friend?" 

Aragorn peered at him over the hilt of the bow. The man would have had to be utterly sightless not to see the rage that seethed beneath the elf's cool exterior. 

Legolas regarded him with ice blue eyes that dared the man to speak again.

"I am angered. At myself and at Nephryn and at the Queen of this glorious land and at Elbereth for even allowing this day to be!!"

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and frowned for rarely had he seen the eternally patient elf so riled. He did not need to guess the source of this anger.

"I take it that Nephryn spoke to you?" Aragorn murmured quietly.

Legolas looked up at him from a blank stare, realisation dawning. He set the bow down and began to prowl the ground menacingly, glancing up at the man with steely eyes.

"You knew of this cruel joke?"

Aragorn hesitated. He did not know how much Nephryn had told him so better to assume that Legolas only knew that Nephryn had to accompany the Fellowship. 

"Yes, I knew. Galadriél spoke to me this morning. Believe me when I say that the decision was not an easy one to make or to carry out. No more than you, do I wish harm to befall her."

Without warning, Legolas raised a fist and pushes a long palm flat into Aragorn's chest, forcing the man back against the bole of a large oak. Legolas had superior strength and held him fast for a long time. Aragorn was not frightened, for he knew that his elf-friend would not harm him, but he was taken by surprise him. Legolas looked up and bored into his face with a long piercing scowl.

"Do not presume to think that you could even begin to understand how I feel. If you _do_ believe to understand how I feel, why then, calling yourself my friend, would you even consider allowing Nephryn to accompany us?"

The elf clearly took the decision to bring the elf-maid with the fellowship as a personal attack. Aragorn knew that the full extent of the situation would need to be revealed soon in order to maintain any semblance of unity among the fellowship, but never had he divined that it might impact on his friendship with Legolas.

With all his strength, Aragorn pried the elf's limb away from his tunic and forced him back to a less imposing distance. 

"There is more to this than is yet clear to you. Do not believe that this decision was taken to spite you or that any of it was taken lightly. It is clear to me that you have not listened fully what Nephryn has told you."

As the words registered in Legolas's mind, he recalled the sorry conversation mere hours before. Hardly a conversation, he reflected bitterly. It had been more an exercise in shouting words over deafening silence, mostly on his part for he'd barely allowed Nephryn to say her piece.

"We argued briefly. She left soon after she told me, for I was angry," Legolas admitted diffidently to Aragorn, shame and regret heating his face. His sudden rage had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. 

Aragorn considered this for a moment, knowing all too well how anger and fear muted the senses, and the underlying meanings in heated conversations became lost to the oblivion of mindless rage. Such was the way for creatures in love. For every devoted moment, there was a spell of anger, equal in intensity.

"Then perhaps it is not that you did not listen to her Legolas. Perhaps it is that you never even gave her leave to speak." 

Aragorn could see that the effect of his softly uttered words was immediately felt. Legolas stood, bent in defeat and he pondered what had occurred in a different, more rational light. 

When he last looked up at Aragorn, all the anger was gone from Legolas's features. Only fear and regret lived there now.

"I must find her." 

Legolas did not even pause to retrieve his longbow as he took off at a run. Aragorn watched as the elf disappeared up over the crest, never faltering. Though the elf saw the error in his judgement immediately, Aragorn knew that a trust had been broken. Nephryn had trusted Legolas with a terrible knowledge and found him, not supportive as Aragorn had promised, but confused and angered. It would take time for that broken faith to heal. But it seemed that even the immortal elves were blessed with such a luxury and the days ahead would be fraught with danger, regardless of whether the pair reconciled or not.

*************************

It was times such as these that Nephryn found it most useful to be able to retreat into the depths of her studies. When all her tears were spent once more, she's sought the Lady's primary counsellor and asked permission to enter the protected repository where the most important and valuable of elven lore and artefacts were housed. She'd been there before and the place had enthralled her. It was only after her only visit had the Lady Galadriél taught her of the mystic plains where warriors of old could freely practice their enchantments and rituals.

As she browsed the musty shelves now, it was Nephryn's intention to seek out the means to this mystic plain in order to better hone her skills. Though large and well lit, the repository was overstuffed with items varying in size and shape. Nephryn knew that this was because it was a protected area. There were several valuable and dangerous items in here, all protected by the powerful, impenetrable envelope of Nenya. The larger the repository, the more energy needed to be diverted to its protection and Galadriél had decided long ago that safe boundaries of Lothlorién were the priority and so the repository was kept comparatively small in scale.

Of course it did not ease her task, for already Nephryn had spent almost three hours sifting through the many artefacts that lined the deep shelves. As she gazed out the nearest opening, she could see that the sun had sunk low in the sky, dulling to a burnished yellow hue, its rays no longer glaring out from its blue nest. 

The elf's woes were not forgotten, but caught up in her search, she was at least able to put them aside for a while. She could feel spikes of pain prick behind her eyes and she knew that she would have to leave soon lest her sight desert her all together. She was on the verge of halting her search when a small black orb caught her keen gaze. 

Curious, she reached up over the large stack of books obscuring it and gently withdrew it from its burrow. It was most unusual:  perfectly refined in texture, smooth like refined diamond but black as the night skies over Mordor. She would have mistaken it for one of the legendary palantír but for the fact that it was oblong rather than spherical. The surface was cool under her fingertips and completely unmarked. There were no inscriptions of any kind; nothing to indicate its purpose or method. 

Frowning and ever more curious, Nephryn pondered the many enchantments she'd learned, trying to recall the wording for a revealing ritual. She began to chant softly, murmuring some words and whispering what she was less sure of. As she spoke, the memories flooded back to her and she began to speed up chant. Her eyes fell shut as she became absorbed completely in her task. In the darkness of her blindness, the words spun and mingled and glowed red. Without warning the oblong orb appeared in her minds eye and she saw for one second with clarity, its purpose and power. 

As quickly as it had appeared, the image vanished and Nephryn forced bleary eyes open. She gaped down at the object in wonder and fear, but knew instantly that it must accompany her to Mordor. She stood on weak legs and tucked the small obsidian orb into the deep folds of her rustic robes. 

She opened the door to the world outside, wary of any witnessing her hasty departure. Satisfied that she was alone, Nephryn slipped out, pulling the door firmly shut behind her. 

Minutes later she was again in the centre on the Wood city though the atmosphere was subdued and hushed, as though any sign of activity might awaken another dark curse. Nephryn knew it was unlikely, but the fact that it was even possible today where previously it would have been impossible yesterday terrified them all and spurred the elf-maid on faster.

She was pushing open the door to her chambers when a heavy hand landed solidly on her shoulder. Nephryn jumped and only just managed to bite back a scream. 

Legolas stood behind her, a peculiar mix of sorrow and relief weaving over his features.

"I would speak with you." He whispered softly, his blue eyes drowning her. 

She longed more than anything to feel the comfort and warmth of his embrace, but today he'd hurt her very badly and she was not yet ready to trust him again, with her body or her secrets. So it was with heavy heart and tearful eyes that she looked up at him and spoke.

"I am not yet ready to be with you again. I am sorry." She uttered brokenly, for truly she knew in her heart that she had nothing to fear from him. When he knew the full reason for her leaving, he would her unquestioningly. It was battered memories of her recent past that kept her irrational mind in charge.

Legolas hung his head in absolute defeat, lips pressed tightly together as he reined in on the emotions that played across his fair face.

"I worried for you. I searched all day. I feared you'd left."

"I needed peace in a quiet place where no one would disturb me, for my thoughts did enough of that."

Legolas bent lower under the weight of his guilt with every word, but she did not mean to instil such feelings for she knew that the elf-prince would punish himself enough for them both. As his eyes fell to the floor, her heart ached to comfort him and she ran a fingertip delicately along the line of his jaw. He clasped her hand lightly, pressing a formal kiss to her fingers. His lips lingered there and Nephryn felt her body go weak at the touch and her eyes slip shut. 

"I will wait. Forever if need be. Know that I am sorry for how I treated you today. But I am not sorry for how I feel." 

"I know," she whispered brokenly, emotion threatening to smother her words.

Legolas bowed once and then left, defeat warping his gait, his entire bearing emanating sadness. 

Nephryn threw open the door and stumbled over to the bed. The many events of the day had worn heavily on her. She lay on the bed for a long time, staring out at the sky as it mingled with sunlight into a vibrant cerise and dulled slowly to a regal purple, before finally yielding to the inky black of night. Salty tears soaked her sleeves and she barely had the presence of mind to stand and change out of her robes. 

Before she returned to her empty bed, she tucked the stolen relic into the small leather satchel she'd used on her journey from Rivendell to Lothlorién. For an hour, she lay awake and alone in her bed. Unable to find warmth there, she went to the deep chaise near the window, where Legolas's long moss-green cloak still lay draped. She pulled the heavy worn cloth around her and it enfolded her completely. His scent lingered on its soft fabric and Nephryn lay slouched in a half-waking daze, trying to fool her weary body that it was her beloved who embraced her now and soothed away her many fears. 

But while her body might have been deceived, her tortured mind was not. Sleep or anything resembling rest eluded both her and her beloved elf-prince, and hours later she sat still swathed in the bulky cloak and though they were apart, both Legolas and Nephryn watched as the young sun ascended, ushering forth the new day.

A/N: This has ­_got_ to be the longest hangover ever. I know. Even I'm thinking, 'get over it!!' but if any of you out there have actually had men issues, you'll all know that 'get over it' just don't cut it when you're hurtin. After this chapter (the last of the slow movers/almost totally utterly plotless) things will move a teeny bit livelier (questionable spelling there). Stay tuned for 'The Great River'. There is going to be action in the next two or three chapters: I promise - swear on the grave of my deceased cat.


	15. The Great River

Ok. I know it's been a bit of a wait, so this chapter (The Great River, as promised) is nice and lengthy to make up for the wait. I've been really busy lately (ya know, STUFF…) and my latest project is trying to squeeze five extra hours into the day (Einstein tried it in '03 and failed, but then he didn't have Mac OS X, did he?!?). Anyway, thanks for the continuing tipple of reviews, cos they're always welcome (flames or not). 

FYI: The river Silverlode and the river Celebrant are one and the same ('Silverlode' being the Common speak rendering of the Elvish 'Celebrant'). Just in case you get confused, like I was for a very long time…

Though sleep had evaded many that night, none witnessed what had happened in the dark hours before dawn. In the eerie twilight, the troubled Queen of the Golden Wood summoned Frodo Baggins from his light slumber and together they ventured down to the secluded glade where the renowned mirror of Galadriél lay. 

Under the grey winter skies, where the sickle moon and pale morning sun dwelt in unity, the Elf-queen allowed the young Ring-bearer to gaze into the abyss of the mirror. In it he saw what was, what is and what may be. As he bore witness to the sights before him, so too did the elf-queen. 

It was with the greatest relief that she beheld her own diminishing presence. For it was possible that, if Galadriél were to hold both the One Ring and Ring of the Adamant - Nenya ­- she could rival the Dark Lord in his power. But she knew well that, despite that she was powerful and pure of heart, the Ring was wrought with evil lifeblood and she too would be corrupted. 

Now she saw that she would never succumb to the lure of the Ring. Her presence would diminish, as would the glory of her realm, and together with her husband she would pass into the Undying Lands. All that remained was for Nephryn to survive the coming days to ensure that, even if Lothlorién dwindled, some protected haven would remain for the last of the Elves on Middle Earth.

**********

It was well into the early hours of the morning and the sun had risen high in the cloudless azure sky before Legolas felt any inclination to move from his position overlooking the glades. He'd slouched there most of the night. He could not close his eyes for every time he did, it was her sorrowful face that assaulted his mind. He could not walk in peaceful dreams for he knew that as long as Nephryn was unhappy she would not find such peace and so how could he allow himself such a luxury, when he was the cause of her anguish. 

So he sat, lingering on the unhappy events of the previous day. Neither could he forget what Aragorn had said to him at the range. 

_There is more to this than is yet clear to you_.

Legolas knew also that they would depart today, for to linger any longer was to forget the true purpose of their journey. They'd stopped here for rest, and though they would depart with much more than foreseen, their stay here was still a stopover in a much longer, more arduous trek.

Resolving that he could dwell no more on that which could not be solved in the immediate, Legolas stood briskly. He bathed in the warm pools and changed into clothes given in gift by the Galadhrim. This included an exquisite grey cloak, similar to the one worn by all the Galadhrim warriors. It gleamed and undulated in the light, such that it caught and mimicked the colours that surrounded it, making the wearer blend with his surroundings, whatever they be. 

When he reached the court of Galadriél not an hour later, he found that the rest of the Fellowship, save Nephryn, had gathered there. All wore similar cloaks, even the hobbits, who were half the height of the Woodland elves, wore cloaks that appeared to have been cut to size. 

Aragorn nodded to him from across the group, silent question clear in his eyes. Legolas merely shook his head despondently, unwilling to make a private matter fodder for discussion by the group. 

Hours passed in a blur. Galadriél greeted them and together with her husband, she imparted many fine gifts. Legolas received a longbow and full quiver, superior in craft and method than his own, and though he was very grateful for the gift, he'd rather have received nothing and have Nephryn's smiling presence at his side.

The fellowship ate with the Lord and Queen, eating their fill for it would be their last meal in many days. From now they would live on ­_lembas_ and likely not eat a proper meal until their war was done. Aragorn discussed how they would travel onto Gondor, for that was the next feasible stop before Mordor. On the far side of the Silverlode, the woods swarmed with Orcs and such creatures and so it was decided that the fellowship would journey by boat down the Silverlode and out into the Anduin. From there they could journey on foot or by boat as the situation dictated. 

Legolas agreed with the plan without even really considering what was being suggested. He had other things occupying his thoughts and he'd readily trust Aragorn with such decisions. 

The group had already been informed that Nephryn was to accompany them. Boromir had grumbled loudly at having another innocent to protect and Aragorn had informed him, just as he'd been told, that Nephryn would need no more protection than Boromir would. Gimli had very little to say, for his brief stay in Lothlorién had swayed his mind about all things Elven, and he held Nephryn in the same high regard as he held the great Galadriél. 

All that remained was for the group to depart. They moved as one down to where Galadriél had three small sleek canoes carved and ready. When they arrived, Legolas was surprised to see that Nephryn was already there, inspecting the three vessels. 

She crouched down, running her hand over the rim of one. She wore pants of soft grey, an undershirt of ivory and a tunic of dark blue. The tunic was hemmed in silver and embroidered in paler blue thread. A heavy belt hung low on her waist, and on it she carried a dagger on one hip and a small satchel on the other. She held over one arm a grey cloak, similar to theirs except that it was smaller and more worn. The sight of her was to his eyes was akin to the cool kiss of water on fevered skin.

When she heard their approach, she looked up and Legolas was appalled to see the rings of exhaustion around her eyes. Her long dark hair, which had hung loose previously, was bound tightly in a thin braid that snaked down her back. It made her face appear lean. Drawing herself up to her full height, she stood tall and slim, almost waif-like and yet an inherent strength seemed to radiate from within. 

As she stood, Legolas could see a longbow identical to his own leaning against the side of the boat. Nephryn bowed formally as her Queen and Lord approached. They spoke in undertones that not even Legolas could make out. When they finished, Galadriél leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, pushing thin tendrils of hair back off the elf-maid's face. Celeborn drew from the folds of his robes a sheathed knife. It was similar in shape to Legolas's, but the hilt was silver and it was slightly shorter than his own. Nephryn thanked with a chaste kiss on his cheek before securing the knife on her baldric.

Galadriél turned then and addressed them in hushed tones.

"You should depart while the weather aids you. As long as you stay on the Silverlode, you will remain in the protected boundaries. May the winds be swift at your backs and when the sun falls may the stars of the fallen children of the Illúvatar shine down to light your paths." 

Each of the fellowship bowed and thanked the Lady. When all had said their peace, she departed to higher ground, where she would observe their progress until they were beyond even her sight. 

All had boarded a boat except for Nephryn and Legolas. He approached her with caution and drew her gaze, his fingertips brushing her cheek.

"Will you travel with Gimli and myself?" 

Nephryn looked up at him, the hurt and seclusion in her liquid eyes catching his breath, and she nodded once unable to bare the intense scrutiny of his gaze. She marched back to the trunk of a mallorn and pulled out a quiver and pack. The quiver itself was trimmed in silver and was full to the brim with long, slim feathered arrows. She slung it over her shoulders and pulled the strap across her body so that it hung high on her back. 

She tossed the pack into the boat ahead of her and sprang lightly onto the vessel, such that Gimli would sit between her and Legolas. As they set off, Legolas paddled on one side while she paddled on the other and between them, Gimli basked in the glow on the sun, blissfully unaware of the crackling tension between the elves.

From on high, in the lush lands Galadriél watched until the three boats were not even a pin on the horizon and she prayed that she would see her apprentice safe and well once more.

**********

The Fellowship had travelled four days by river. They paddled long and hard by day, and although the currents aided them and they rotated the burden among them, by nightfall all were aching to rest their weary limbs. Tonight though was the first night they would spend exposed under the stars, for the protective reach of the Lady's Ring had expired that afternoon when they made the tumultuous journey through Cérin Yeief, the white rapids that carried the soothing Silverlode onto the back of the great Anduin. 

Aragorn and Frodo were paddling their vessel while Pippen rested. Behind them, Boromir and Merry drew the oars while Sam munched lightly on _lembas_, all the while grumbling for the want of some pipe weed. Up ahead, setting a fast pace as they'd done from the beginning, Gimli and Nephryn paddled while Legolas tended to broken arrow. 

Aragorn looked up, watching as the sun began its final voyage down the long jagged horizon. He surveyed the banks as they travelled and knew that he felt a stronger pull in the currents than before. If they did not pull in now, they might not find any suitable landing point later and the ink black night was not the time to traverse the unyielding rapids.

"Legolas!" He called out. The elf looked up from the painstaking work and blinked as his vision readjusted to the distance. 

"We ought to find a suitable rest place now!" Aragorn gestured to the increasing currents and the sinking sun.

Legolas merely nodded and indicated to Gimli and Nephryn to change their course.  Both pulled in hard to the right and began to paddle more strongly, having spotted a fitting site. Minutes later, all three boats were moored in the small cove. 

Gimli set about building a small fire while Boromir and Aragorn departed to scout the immediate area for signs that it had been disturbed recently. Nephryn was intensely grateful for the respite. Though she was beginning to feel stronger now that they had left the boundaries of Lorién, the strain on her muscles was still no less and her arms trembled from the effort of hauling the boats ashore. 

Stiffly, she made her way over to where Gimli was blowing softly on smoking foliage, trying to kindle the flame, and sat heavily on a piece of fallen log. Gingerly, she stretched out long legs that had been folded up and cramped for most of the day. The prickling sensations the stung her aching limbs as the blood flowed freely once more almost caused her to cry out and she bit back with a sharp gasp. 

Gimli looked up at her from his task, a small smirk on his face as he recognised her plight.

"You will find that light exercise will help now and will allay the pain come the morrow," the dwarf mumbled gruffly. 

Nephryn was taken by surprise by his suggestion. During the past days, she and Legolas had spoken little and Gimli seemed content to suffer the silence. She thanked him politely and stood up, intending to accept his advice.

As she walked, her strides were short and uneven and she felt foolish, knowing that she would not get very far at such a pace. Every joint from her hips down throbbed, and it felt as though at every step, bone grated coarsely against bone. She rotated her head from side to side to loosen the muscled that had cramped during the day, and she stopped and stretched her arms high over her head, groaning as the true extent of her pain set in. With a frustrated mutter, she decided she could go no further and stiffly made her way back to the log.

Legolas stood, seeing her plight and walked over to her. Wordlessly, he knelt behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly, his light fingers began to pinch and squeeze each muscle, forcing it to release. Throughout the entire process, both were silent. When he'd finished her shoulders, he grasped her thin arms at the wrist and raised each limb, gradually increasing the stretch until she could raise both arms above her head without effort. 

Nephryn smiled, delighting in her rediscovered mobility. She turned to Legolas who was smiling also. Taking his hands, she clasped them between her own and held them up.

"Good sir, you have magical hands. I thank you and my aching body thanks you!" 

Legolas's face split into a grin and he bowed his head, accepting her gratitude. For a long while, she stared, lost in the liquid depths of his sapphire eyes. They carried in them, such open love and care. His unconscious stare conveyed his regret and his need to escape the oppressive strain that had become their every waking moment, more than any words could.

From that point in the night, the wounds that had lain open for a seeming eternity began to heal. They would not be fully closed for perhaps a while, but certainly they were on the mend. 

It made Legolas's heart glad. Nephryn had the first watch and when it was done, she was glad to make her bed next to the elf-prince's comforting presence. He did not hold her, for though both yearned for it, both knew that to succumb now would be to ignore all that had happened, and that would surely come back to haunt them later. So for the night, both had to contend with slumbering under the others watchful gaze.

They arose the next morn to find that a thick cloud had settled gloomily over the land, but a quick inspection of the outlying areas revealed that the mist was natural and not the work of Sauron, though it was a hindrance nonetheless Aragorn stood tall on a rough outcropping that spilled over the bank of the river, with Legolas standing beside him. The elf shielded his eyes from the glare of sunlight dispersing through the mist. 

"I can see very little. I fear if we proceed by the river, we will not know the white waters until they throw us. In this light, they will be all but impossible to navigate." 

Aragorn nodded slowly as he accepted the news that he'd presumed himself. If keen elven eyes could not make out a course, then it was very unlikely that they could foresee any danger until it was too late. 

He sighed heavily at the prospect of lugging the canoes downriver, for though they were not as heavy as the appeared, such a journey was more cumbersome and certainly more dangerous than travelling on the water. It seemed though that there was very little choice in the matter. The fellowship could not afford to linger in one spot for very long, lest the forces of Sauron hone in on the presence of the Ring.

"Haul the boats ashore. We must journey by land today." He muttered despondently to Boromir and Gimli. 

From her position, sitting lacing her boots tight, Nephryn looked up in surprise.

"Surely that is rather more dangerous than we are equipped to deal with?" She queried lightly. Aragorn looked at her in surprise. She did not seem averse to the physical aspect of the work thus far, but could she not see that there was no other option?

"We cannot plot a course through white waters while the clouds sit on the river. Nor can we afford to wait until it lifts. I am afraid that it will be a difficult day but it is necessary."

Nephryn bristled slightly, resenting the insinuation that she was unwilling for such a trek. 

"I did not mean to imply that I was averse to such a task, merely that there is another option." 

Aragorn turned back to her in surprise, eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

"And what might that be?" he tossed lightly, through a small smile.

"I can lift the mist." Nephryn smiled shyly at the man's confused reaction, as though modestly trying to play down her suggestion. 

By now, Boromir and Legolas had begun to listen intently, and the man snorted loudly at this. Even Legolas was forced to admit that such a claim was rather grandiose and he watched as Nephryn blushed softly under the scrutiny of the group. She stood, drawing up her bow and quiver as she arose.

"I can bend the physical realities to my will. I cannot raise the entire blanket, but it can be parted as we travel. Our visibility will be as normal before us, but will be quite limited to our backs. But then, just as we cannot see the approaching enemy, neither can the approaching enemy see us."

Aragorn ran the tips of his fingers along the blade of his dagger as he considered this. Boromir looked across at her with piercing eyes, doubt playing on his worn face.

"This is witch madness. Such trickery will lead us on the path to failure!"

Nephryn opened her mouth to defend herself but found that Legolas was already there, jumping to support her. 

"It is a faster and safer option than to travel in the forest, hauling heavy loads. It would take all of us to carry the boats. There would be no one to guard our backs. And I doubt that we could travel speedily enough to avoid revealing ourselves to Sauron's minions!"

Legolas's eyes blazed as he defied Boromir's sullen doubt with his own innate faith in the elf-maid. Nephryn was certain there would follow a heated argument, and almost regretted mentioning it until Aragorn stepped between them and forced down their voices with his own. Then he turned to Nephryn and held her gaze with his own. 

"You are certain that it will work?" 

The elf-maid nodded, needing to words to reassure him for her sincerity was plainly set in her green eyes.

"How long can you sustain such an enchantment?" 

Nephryn bit absently on her lower lip as she considered this. 

"I believe I can see us through till midday. If by then the mist still lingers, we can continue on foot. But I believe that the fog will lift by then, for there is a rising wind from the north to offset the southern wind that has surely carried this haze in from the bay of Belfalas."

Aragorn nodded, conceding at last that her suggestion was truly the best course of action. He gestured to Sam to wake the others hobbits, who lay some distance away, huddled in small balls, still sleeping off the exertions of the previous day. 

Minutes later, three bleary-eyed hobbits stood, squinting in the pale morning light, aghast at the sight of the thick rolls of fog that loomed heavily over the land. Boromir and Gimli had returned to the boats to their shallow moorings, while Legolas and Aragorn stamped out the fire and gathered together any belongings that might indicate their presence. 

Aragorn instructed that Nephryn travel with him and Frodo, since Aragorn could best navigate the river and the elf-maid would light their way. Gimli, Pippen and Merry would travel directly behind them and Boromir, Legolas and Sam would bring up the rear, for the man and the elf could best guard their unseeing backs.

Nephryn settled herself at the bow of the boat, and as Aragorn pushed the boat away from the shore and hopped lightly into the boat, the elf-maid began to chant softly under her breath. She balanced herself in her seat as much as possible and then held out her hands in supplication, invoking the powers of the wind and sea. Gradually a breeze picked up and she closed her eyes and tilted her face into it.

Aragorn watched as the fog began to swirl and undulate before them, and slowly it shrank away as though a bubble of constantly spiralling winds had erupted about the boat. He observed then as Nephryn slowly moved her hands apart and it was as though she was shaping the bubble. The fog remained low over their heads, by in front a long tunnel appeared through it and Aragorn could see for nearly half a league down the river. 

He exhaled audibly in awe and beside him Frodo muttered in amazement.

"Amazing!" The hobbits eyes had widened and the gentle breezes that wafted around them seemed to lift the halfling's spirits. 

For nearly six hours, Nephryn continued to chant, pushing forward the tunnel of clear sky as the company proceeded quickly down river. At last, as expected Nephryn dropped her hands and turned to Aragorn. 

"I can continue no further. I require pause." She murmured in defeat. 

Aragorn was surprise to see that elf-maid had paled and a thin sheen of sweat gleamed in the light. It was obvious that she'd pushed herself to her limit. It also seemed that the timing was just right for up ahead, Aragorn could see that the fog had begun to thin and lift. 

They pulled into to a small inlet and all rested and ate their share of _lembas_. Nephryn sat away from the group, trying to quell the nausea that always accompanied such exertion. It was most unpleasant but she was glad to finally be able to prove her worth. 

A slender hand fell on her shoulder and a canteen of water was thrust into her hands. She turned to greet Legolas, and was touched to see the concern written plainly on his fair face. He sat down beside her and took her hand in his. 

"That was a great thing you did. I believe that you have put to rest any doubts among the group." 

Nephryn smiled warmly, taking in a long deep gulp of the cool water. Then she turned to the elf and clasped their entwined hands. 

"Even your doubts?" she uttered quietly, begging that the heartbreaking tension that had wedged between them would allay soon. 

Legolas heard in her mellifluous voice the longing for acceptance, but he'd never doubted the value she would bring to the company. He only resented the associated dangers such a task carried.

"I never doubted your abilities for a second. You have long proven your worth and earned my respect. I fear for your life because even the most capable of warriors would chance death on such a journey, and I fear that if you were to die, an eternity alone would be too difficult a prospect for me." 

He leaned across to caress her cheek and she tilted forward willingly into his touch, her body too long starved for the warm spark such intimacy gave. She saw in his face, the fear and worry that had so affected him in Lorién and knew that she would have reacted similarly if she'd been in his position. 

"Then you would accept without further proof that I am needed and even destined to accompany you?" She gazed longingly into his eyes, eagerly anticipating such reception.

"Yes," he mumbled brokenly, "But it does not ease my fear or allay the dark thoughts that plague my dreams."

Nephryn felt a swell of warmth inside her, that her prince would accept her so keenly at her word, without ever knowing of the prophecy of the Vessel. She knew then that she must tell him. Before they parted, she approached Aragorn asking if she could travel alone with Legolas, for they had a great many things to discuss but little time in which to do it. Aragorn agreed readily, knowing well the details of what could prove to be a trying conversation. Nephryn thanked him and was about to return to the boat when Aragorn called her back. 

"For what you did this morning. Thank you. You had no need to prove yourself to me or to Legolas, but I believe that the others have been convinced of your value, though their doubt was misguided to begin with."

The elf-maid nodded modestly, for she was unused to such high praise for a task so meagre.

"We live in strange times and to many woes have befallen the Fellowship for them to trust a stranger so readily. I could never take offence when I myself would have been wary of such strangers. I only hope that I can continue to aid our cause in the coming days." 

Nephryn did not wait for a response, but turned and went to where Legolas waited beside the boat for her. What she about to tell him worried her, in that she feared he might react angrily, but it would be welcome relief to her burdened heart to share the secret that had silently terrified her since her meeting with Galadriél.

Well, things are movin a bit quicker now aren't they?? I think we all (including myself) needed a break from the mush. I'll always have a little bit but now of little dearie Nephryn, who holds the heart of Leggies, is gonna have to toughen up a teeny bit. Stay tuned for the action-packed 'Divide and Fall' (original, huh!!). I realised that I actually like writing fight scenes almost as much as I like writing love and mush… What can I say, I've got a dark side. Wow.

PS Has any noticed that FF.net has been kinda possessed of late? I'm talking about my monitor doing a full 360 on me. What is _that_ about??


	16. The Dreams We Bear

OK. I know that this is not 'Divide and Fall' like I promised. Sorry. I do tend to get ahead of myself. Those darn Skittles give me notions ya know. Anyway. Still lots of pace and action (as much as you can have on a walkabout in a forest, right??) so I hope you enjoy. Sorry about the long wait, but I'll try and post the this and the next chapter in quick succession. And I refuse to name it in case I'm wrong. Again.

It seemed to Gimli, son of Glóin, that the long journey to Mordor would be fraught with danger and woe and worry. This was something that he'd anticipated at Rivendell. He felt that undertaking such a journey, while necessary and noble, would also appease those who might have cast a critical eye on the dwarves as a cowardly race, who would have all other free peoples fight their battles. 

Gimli felt in his heart that this was not the case. He himself did not fear death so much as the prospect of slavery. He would fight to the death, as he knew many comrades would to repel such a threat. He did not pretend to understand the thoughts of his ancestors when they'd closed the doors to the halls of Moria, a millennium ago when Sauron first rose to power, but he did not believe for a second that such a decision was borne out of cowardice.

 As he ploughed his oar deep into the crystalline waters, it felt good to feel the strain of his muscles as he poured his effort into maintaining the fast pace. Sam, the quietest of the hobbits, aided him but the boat was more laden than before for they carried Merry and Pippen also. The two prattled endlessly, arguing about everything, from their versions of the history of the Anduin to who would take the first watch when the next went ashore. 

Up ahead, Aragorn and Boromir pulled the oars, while Frodo sat between them in a daze, eyes wandering around aimlessly, small halfling fingers constantly toying with the Ring that hung like a lead weight from his neck. Every now and then, Gimli spied Boromir staring intently at the boy, occupied presumably with the Ring. It was stranger than most the pull it seemed to have of the Steward of Gondor, and his perpetual attentions troubled the dwarf greatly. 

Behind them, Legolas and Nephryn rode, speaking continuously in hushed tones. They'd asked to travel alone to discuss a private matter, and it had mattered not to Gimli whom he travelled with as long as they all arrived safe and well. So the pair of elves offered to take the small amount of supplies the company was brought in order to more evenly disperse the weight. Gimli could not hear what was being said, only that the tone was not one of joy, but grave and even sorrowful. 

He hoped that there were not ill tidings ahead for the pair. In Lothlorién, the dwarf discovered a newfound respect for the elven people. The Lady of the Wood had captivated him completely and he was not ashamed to admit this. He'd cried openly when they'd finally lost sight of the fair Elf-queen. Neither was Gimli blind to bond that was more than friendship that held fast between Legolas and the sylphlike elf-maid. 

When she'd cast her magic to lift the fog, though she did not know it at the time, Legolas had worried gravely for her. He'd not spoken to Gimli of it, but the dwarf felt that he knew the elf well enough to recognise the rarely seen lines of worry that drew his fair face. Gimli knew that for the elf to show his feelings so overtly, there had to have been a true bond between he and Nephryn.

It was apparent also that Legolas's fears were not tenuous for when they'd rested earlier, Gimli had noticed how Nephryn was forced to lean on Aragorn for support as she went ashore, and later how her appetite had dwindled and how pale she'd been. It seemed that such powerful and valuable magic was not without a price. It was a true testament to the courage and abilities of the elf-girl that she was so willing to pay it. 

His attentions were drawn back to his own charges and he listening in mirth as Pippen moaned pitiably for the want of second breakfast. As the journey progressed, though his limited patience might be severely tried, Gimli could not think of better companions than those who still found time to consider the mundane.

* * *

Legolas was absorbed in thought for most of the day. Nephryn had told him her tale, and as each word passed her lips, it was with joy he saw a great weight lift from her being, and an equal sorrow felt it settle onto his own. He was overcome with guilt when he thought of how he'd unleashed his anger on the peaceable elf-maid and driven her away to dwell alone on her difficult news, when she'd come to him in the hope that he'd ease her fears. It made the recent lapse in their relationship seem all the more ruinous. 

Beside him, Nephryn had regained her strength and her slim arms pulled vigorously on the paddle. She stared up at the tall cliffs that now lined the Anduin. Her eyes darted back and over the edges, as though trying to pick out something that did not belong. She'd been silent after she'd recounted the details of her true reasons for accompanying the fellowship, and though Legolas yearned greatly to discuss the matter in greater detail, he knew that the elf-maid had no more answers and that such a discussion would only stress the uncertainty if the entire situation. Equally he wanted to take her in his arms and soothe away the seeming permanent lines of worry that had settled over her features. It dulled her eyes and drew her face and he longed for the day when he would see once more the carefree grin that split her face and lightened her entire countenance. 

Up ahead, Aragorn turned around and shouted back to the two boats behind him. 

"We will rest now and depart as soon as the sun rises again." He pointed to tall looming clouds that approached like giant anvils hung from the heavens. Rain and winds would follow perhaps even thunder and it would be better to be sheltered from such forces. 

Minutes later, Aragorn spotted a suitable inlet and all three vessels steered into it. Between the two men, two elves and the dwarf, the boats were hauled ashore and the hobbits fetched long twigs and fallen foliage to cover the canoes so that they would not be flooded. All that remained was for the group to fashion a shelter large enough to see them through the storm. From her pack, Nephryn produced two extra cloaks and set about thinning and burning some candle wax. 

"What are you doing there?" Pippen had wandered over to where the elf-maid crumbled small candles into little piece. 

She looked up at his innocent face and smiled demurely. 

"It seems to me young hobbit, that you have never had to make your bed outside in the rain. I am going to cover the cloaks with this wax, so as to proof it from the rain." 

Understanding dawned on the young hobbit's face and he smiled, nodding, but then he frowned and leaned down to pick up a piece of the ground wax. 

"But surely you cannot expected so little wax to cover both cloaks entirely?" He spoke in a tone such that he felt he'd succeeded in foiling her plan. But she'd anticipated this question. 

"I do not purport to work miracles Master Peregrin Took. But I have a few tricks up my sleeve yet." 

For the next half hour, the amazed halfling watched as Nephryn ground down the wax, melted it with a small smouldering twig and mingled it with water and oil. All the while, she murmured under her breath, but what she was saying made little sense to the hobbit. He was flabbergasted to see that as the wax hardened and cooled, the elf-maid had achieved the impossible in mixing the oil, water and wax into a single substance. As it cooled, she spread lightly over the cloaks. When both garments were covered completely, Nephryn stood and held her hands over the cloaks. 

She closed her eyes and began to speak in slow halting tones. A soft white glow seemed to flow from the palms of her down turned hands and from where he stood, Pippen could feel the heat emanating from her. In a matter of seconds, the light and heat subsided and soft sheen of the wax on the garment had vanished as it had seeped deep into the fabric. 

"Incredible!" 

The exclamation had come, not from Pippen, but from Legolas who stood behind Nephryn, observing her work. Exhaling deeply as she opened her eyes, she swayed slightly and then stooped down to gather up the garments. When she stood and turned, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her and might have stumbled but for the steadying hand of Legolas, who peered down at her with a mixture of concern and awe. 

Nephryn reached out and clasped the hand that had caught her shoulder and drew it to her waist. Together in silence, they moved across to where Aragorn and Gimli were erecting three struts on which to lay the oilcloth. Legolas wordlessly slipped one hand behind her back, and Nephryn leaned in gratefully, for she did not wish to show weakness. 

Aragorn took the cloaks without even glancing at them, and it was only as he sensed the slightly heavier oily texture of the cloth, did he look up at the elf-maid. The question in his eyes went unspoken and she answered with only a small wave of her fingers, indicating that the process had not been entirely natural. 

Aragorn merely nodded his head in understanding and thanks. The further they journeyed, the more he saw the value in the young elf-maid accompanying them. He flung the tarp up over the struts and before long they'd formed a low wide shelter, secured against the wind and rain. Near the edge, Boromir set a small fire began to boil and strain some water. 

Legolas led Nephryn over to a small log that Aragorn had placed under the tarp and indicated that she should sit. The elf-prince then went over to his pack and retrieved the day's supply of _lembas_. 

As they sat in silence, the days work begetting a big appetite, only Pippen and Merry spoke, grumbling that the elves could have made the whey-bread more palatable. Nephryn nibbled on her small portion, lost in thought as she stared into the dull embers of the weak fire. Legolas sat next to her, their hips touching. Neither spoke, though it was clear to all that sparks flared between them. 

When they'd finished eating, Aragorn volunteered for the first watch, admitting that he worried for the safety of the company, as they drew ever closer to the Dark Lord's lair. Frodo broke his long silence, stating that he would keep watch with the man. 

Nephryn watched the young Ring-bearer as he stood to gather his belongings. She saw the fear that played behind his eyes and knew instantly why the weary halfling opted to take watch instead of sleeping. She placed a hand on Legolas and leaned in to whisper in his ear. 

"I will return. I wish to speak briefly with Frodo." 

Legolas merely nodded and went to set up a small area where she might sleep. As she stepped beyond the shelter to follow Frodo, she could feel Boromir's gaze burn at her back. 

Already, a cold misting rain had settled. Nephryn found the hobbit at the boat, pulling out his pack. When she called to him, he straightened quickly, scrubbing small fists over his face. It did not take keen elven sight to discern that the hobbit had been crying. 

"Are you alright?" She murmured softly, not wishing to scare the boy further. 

He peered up at the unwelcome visitor and nodded despite his tears. 

"I must ask myself why a young hobbit, surely tired from a long day's work would chose to stay awake and keep vigil." 

Frodo frowned at the unasked question and shrugged lightly. 

"Somebody must keep an eye for Orcs and evil creatures." He mumbled, not quite able to meet her eyes. 

Nephryn smiled almost maternally and stepped closer to the hobbit, reaching out to tilt the boy's face to hers. It might have seemed to anyone watching that the elf-maid was going for the Ring, nut somehow Frodo knew that she was not taken in by its insidious lure. She caught his stare and held it, as though trying to read his soul.

"Your dreams are troubled. And so your sleep takes more energy than it restores." Nephryn whispered thoughtfully, as though the idea intrigued her.

"Yes," the halfling muttered finally, "ever since I was taken ill by the poison from the fell Ringwraiths."

Nephryn nodded in understanding, for she too had suffered their wrath, but she'd exorcised such demons very soon after she was taken ill. She also knew that the poor boy's suffering must be eased so that he could continue his long voyage. She held her hand out to him and spoke aloud. 

"Would you trust me to help you?" 

Frodo regarded her proffered hand suspiciously. 

"What can you do?" 

Nephryn smiled at the surprised question. Surely the hobbit could see that, if the elf-maid could part mists and mix water and oil, she could ease the darkness that invaded his dreams. He took her hand reluctantly and she led him back to the shelter. He lay down on his cloak and she pulled an Athelas salve from the pouch on her belt. With the pad of her thumb, she spread the filmy liniment in the shape of a circle pierced with a cross. From his vantage Legolas recognised it as the same mark on Nephryn's arm, the mark of the Illúvatar. She murmured softly, closed her own eyes and placed one hand over the hobbit's fearful eyes. 

When she stopped, she opened her eyes and looked down at the hobbit. 

"Sleep now, for your dreams are protected by Elbereth. It will not last forever, but then neither will the demons that plague your dreams." 

"What about my watch?" The hobbit fretted aloud. 

A voice sounded over Nephryn's shoulder and she turned to see Samwise Gamgee leaning over toward the Ringbearer. 

"I'll take your watch Master Frodo. Fear not. I shall keep good sight." 

Frodo's loyal companion smiled reassuringly, before disappearing outside to where Aragorn sat. 

Frodo could not speak any more. He simply nodded his head and closed his eyes. Nephryn turned toward Legolas, eagerly anticipating some rest herself when a sleepy, muffled voice murmured behind her. 

"Thank you fair lady." 

Nephryn smiled but did not turn back. She was glad to be able to ease the boy's burden. Elbereth knew there would be a fair amount that he would bear alone. She settled herself down on the cloak that Legolas had laid out for her. He gazed down at her with reverent eyes. Silently, she shifted to one side, making space for him and he lay down beside her, encircling her in his warm embrace.

For the first time in almost a week, Nephryn felt secure and happy. Her head was cushioned in the crook of his arm and she drew him closer as she wrapped her slim arms around his waist. Though the rain pounded and the wind roared, they slept peacefully together, lulled by the prospect that their bonds had been solidified, and not broken as they'd feared, by the events of the past days.

Please please please please read and review, like the dutiful reader.


	17. Falling Blade

For the first time ever, I actually have no authors note, footnotes, apologies or anything… Wow

Eight days of long hard travel brought them to their final place on the Great River. Ahead lay the white water of Sarn Gebir and beyond the falls of Rauros.

The evening was quiet and windless, and save for the muted burble of the river, the air was silent. The sun had begun its last descent behind the jagged outline of Emyn Muil. Aragorn knew that they could not run the rapids by night and not even Nephryn's powerful weaving could stay the fall of the old sun. 

Against his weary arms and shoulders, Aragorn could feel the increasing currents. Sarn Gebir was closer to hand than he first thought. He realised that they being pulled inexorably into the shoals. It was death to any who dared by night!

"Back! Back!" he cried and together with Pippen and Frodo began to paddle hard to starboard. Behind them, the others followed suit. 

Slowly, the boats turned and it was with achingly small headway that they fought the current. Boromir yelled at the hobbits to paddle harder, lest they be carried to their deaths. 

Without warning, the twang of bowstrings broke the night silence.

"Yrch!!" Legolas exclaimed from his position at the stern of the boat. 

From above on the high cliff faces of the river, arrows rained down. Instinctively, the hobbits ducked for cover, but all they could do was cover their bare heads with their hands. All expected to be hit, but it seemed that the near darkness that hindered the fellowship was not yet dark enough for night-seeing Orc eyes. 

Boromir and Aragorn yelled to the hobbits to resume the hard row toward the west bank. It was slow going, seeming more so because every moment they expected to pierced from above by the vicious spikes. Finally, the east shore began to fade and the ebb and pull of the water eased.

Frodo breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the bed of the shore grate harshly against the underbelly of the boat. Quickly, the group jumped out of the boats and hauled them ashore. Aragorn was on the verge of declaring peace when, from the south a wretched screeching sound came as a horrid black shape bore down on the group.

Legolas did not hesitated and grabbed the longbow given to him at Lorién. He sighted down an arrow and aimed it south, but found that there was no target even though the wailing piercing sounds loomed ever closer. As the shadow grew nearer, it appeared to have wide-spanning wings. The hobbits quivered in fear, shrinking down into the ground. Truth be told, Nephryn had the same inclination and was in awe at Legolas's ability to stand there and aim against a shadow-like enemy. 

Suddenly, the bow of Lorién sang and two arrows shot forth, seeming to impact or at least converge with the black enemy. It swerved wildly, sweeping low in its path. Even the elf-prince could not suppress the urge to crouch down as it passed. All eyes watched as it faded, as did the pitched screams toward the dark western shore. As suddenly as the dark creature had appeared, it was gone.

Aragorn wasted no time in praise. That could wait. He instructed that they board the boats again, and for an hour, in the pitch blackness, they felt their way sightless along the shore until they reached a distance deemed to be safe for the night from the all-seeing Orc eyes.

Finally, the stopped and rested. As the sat huddled around a small fire, Gimli mumbled through a mouthful of _lembas_ to Legolas.

"Praised be the bow of the fair Galadriél, and the hand and eye of Legolas. That was a mighty shot in the dark, my friend!" 

Legolas nodded in silence, eyes staring into the fire as though to draw more heat. 

"Indeed, but who is to say what I hit!" He intoned, never breaking the hypnotic gaze.

Beside him, Nephryn sat drinking warmed water. She leaned in closer to the elf-prince, drinking the heat that seemed to radiate from him. For some reason, she could not shake the chill that seemed to stab her right to the bone. She shivered and twitched in her seat and wrapped her hands in her cloak and pulled it tighter around her body. 

Legolas stirred at this and looked up questioningly at her. It had neither to be asked nor answered: he simply drew her into an embrace, swathing her in his cloak as well as her own and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. All in the group knew well now the nature of the elves relationship and none were uncomfortable with such gestures save Boromir, who it seemed was overtly affected by everything. The man was in a constant state of unease.  Now, as he watched the pair, he glared at Legolas over the fire and stalked away, to where Aragorn was scouting the bank of the river.

The company slept for several hours before waking to grey dawn and white fog. Before they could agree on a further course, it was agreed that Aragorn and Legolas would scout ahead for any unforeseen dangers. Then they could decide with better knowledge of their options. It was with a heavy heart that Nephryn watched Legolas leave, but she would not speak out for that would be a sign of their collective weakness. 

Three hours after, Legolas and Aragorn returned with news that the path was well worn but that the area was deserted. It was decided then that they would carry the boats past the rapids on foot. The boats proved to be quite light, such that a pair of hobbits could bear one easily over the flats, but then, as the terrain sharpened, Aragorn and Boromir had to carry each boat up the crests, while the rest carried the packs and supplies. The journey lasted well into the afternoon. By the time the exhausted group set down to rest, dusky clouds had settled on the horizon. 

Though none was happy resting in the middle of the wood, all were to tired to continue travelling into the night, even sturdy Gimli, insisted on resting. It was with a moan that Nephryn fell into elven dreams in the arms of her beloved. Her muscles were pinched tight across her back and she knew well the pain she would feel come morning. And it seemed that morning was to break early for her, for she woke to Boromir's insistent nudging. 

As they sat opposite each other, the fire dying between them, Nephryn could feel the heat of his gaze. When she looked up, he did not look away as one might expect, but seemed to peer even closer.

"Do you feel the pull of the Ring?" he enquired flippantly, breaking the long silence. 

"It affects us all," she responded, equally casual because she did not want to pursue this line of conversation. 

But he did not seem to recognise her discomfort and he cocked his head at her as though he did not believe what she'd said.

"No. I disagree. It does not affect you, or Legolas. Why is that?" he squinted at her, as if the notion stumped him completely. 

"You are mistaken. The Ring draws on the inherent evil that lies within all of us. We are all flawed, have our foibles and weaknesses and the Ring appeals to this. Do not believe for even a second that we are immune to its effects."

Boromir nodded at this, and seemed to accept her answer at face value. He stared into the fire for a moment or so and then looked up again, curiosity in his tone as he spoke. 

"Why then, if we are all affected by the Ring, am I so mistrusted?" 

Nephryn began to panic slightly. How could she respond to this? She did mistrust him. She saw how he watched the Ringbearer intently, a covetousness glowing in his eyes. He seemed to be waiting for the halfling to falter so that he could acquire the Ring for himself. No one else in the group appeared to be quite so taken with it. 

"Perhaps it is because you seem to readily dismiss the inherent danger of using the Ring, despite the fact that it was this deliberate ignorance that lead to it being lost rather than destroyed in the Second Age. I believe that we are here to ensure that the Ring is destroyed, and yet you continue to think in the same manner as Isildur."

Boromir stared at her a long while, shock written plainly on his face. Clearly he'd not expected such a brutal truth from the elf-maid, but it was not her way to skirt around the truth however blunt it might be. Boromir had expected some soothing reassurance that he was trusted and accepted, when in fact this was simply not so. He stood abruptly and stalked away from the fire. 

"You should not have said that." The voice that sounded behind her was that of Aragorn's. He stood watching Boromir disappear down toward the bank. 

Nephryn did not look back at the Ranger. She merely shrugged her shoulders. 

"I have seen the menace in his eyes when he looks at Frodo. I know that it springs from the lure of the Ring, but that does not make it less dangerous. He should not believe that it has gone unnoticed."

Aragorn walked around to face her and sat in the spot Boromir had vacated. 

"Still, he is a part of the company. We need as many allies as we can acquire," he reasoned, a glimmer of disapproval in his dark eyes. 

"Even if the ally would sabotage everything you are trying to achieve. That is what happened at Dagorlad. So much blood was shed. Both elves and men died to destroy the Ring and the weakness of one meant that they died in vain. It matters not whether it was the weakness of a man or elf, neither or both. It only matters that such tragedy is not repeated."

Aragorn did not respond. They sat in silence and she kept watch with him until misty dawn broke over the tenth day. 

When Boromir returned an hour after the sun rose, they gathered their belongings and carried the boats down to the shore. The shroud of anger that had descended over Boromir had not lifted when he returned and all the while, Nephryn was acutely aware of the glares he threw her way. She was beginning to question her judgement, but set the matter aside when the boarded the boats once more.

They returned to the river then, the rapids and white water safely behind them. Never had any believed that they would be glad to return to the boats, but as they paddled lazily, all knew that sitting easily on a boat was more agreeable to their aching limbs than hiking the rough land that bordered the water. 

It was with great relief and awe that hours later, they finally reached Argonath, the pillars of the Kings. Though Nephryn had heard of it in passing, she'd never seen it and was amazed at the tall stone figures that guarded the boundaries of the great river. Legolas leaned over her shoulder and pointed to them, his whispered words tickling the sensitive tip of her ear.

"Amon Lhaw to the left and Amon Hen to the right. In the Second Age, watch was kept up there." 

Up ahead, on the bright morning horizon, Tol Brandir, the island that sat in the Great River approached. After that, they would see clearly the three peaks that sat on the horizon: Minas Tirith, Minas Morgûl and Mount Doom. The roar of the Falls of Rauros beckoned, and the fellowship could proceed no further without choosing whether east or west to proceed.

* * *

Evening fell quickly on the tenth day. When the group past beyond Argonath, the currents in the river lulled, and Aragorn led them to the right of a river now divided by the imposing island of Tol Brandir. At the feet of Amon Hen, there grew soft grasses and a smooth terrain.

"This is Parth Galen. In long days past, it was a place of peace. Let us pray that it remains so for one more night." Aragorn looked up in awe to the stony figure of Amon Hen against the backdrop of a purple twilight and prayed silently that the luck of the ancients would stay the danger that grew by the moment.

Aragorn turned to the group and gestured to the flat soft ground and clear skies.

"Tonight is likely the last peaceful night we shall have, for tomorrow, we venture forth. Whether we go west to Entwash or east to Minas Tirith, trouble will lie closer and more daunting than know. Legolas, you and Nephryn shall take first watch. Then Gimli and myself shall follow." 

Legolas nodded silently from his post where he looked out onto the Anduin, which flowed less vigorously now.

The night was not as cold as the previous ones, and it was quickly decided that it would be more prudent not to light a fire. As the sun bade farewell once more, the group settled easily, the hobbits having become more accustomed to such sleeping arrangements. 

Legolas looked out across the river, the large mass of Tol Brandir diminishing his view of the far shore. He could see naught, but if something were to budge, he would make it out for the night was clear and the air still, easily depriving any Orcs of cover.

Nephryn walked up beside him, huddling deeper into her own cloak. Her hair fell loose now her shoulder in velvet waves, crowned by the silver halo of the half moon. They stood together watching out over the river until Nephryn broke the silence. 

"I am worried," she whispered in hushed tones, "about Boromir. He appears to be drawn further every moment to the dark Ring. I believe it is merely a matter of time before he relinquishes control to it."

Legolas said nothing, but his hands sought hers and he pulled her closer to him. 

"What can we do? Nothing I fear." He responded at last.

When he looked down at her, Nephryn could see that he too was worried, but also that it was something that'd he'd long accepted as an impossible to resolve. He opened his to speak again only to be silenced when a coarse, rasping sound carried across the still night air. It was very faint, and so only the elves heard it. 

Nephryn made toward the sound, with Legolas on her heels. He drew his bow and pulled a quiver as he moved on soundless feet. He veered off to one side, while Nephryn crept along a small ditch on the other side, her long knife drawn, the hilt catching the moonlight. As she moved, the elf-maid swore that the frantic thump of heart echoed loudly around the black wood. 

Without warning, a shadow darker than the night hovered among the trees. Almost simultaneously, Legolas and Nephryn jumped out in front of it. Legolas was about to loose the arrow upon the thing when he realised what, or rather who he was looking at.

"No!!" He yelled, as he watched Nephryn's knife fall. He knew instantly that she too had seen what he thought he'd only imagined. But it was too late, and her blade cut down the length of the body before them. He heard an anguished cry loose from her lips as the heavy figure of Boromir fell back. 

Legolas leapt forward, bending to examine the damage. His nimble fingers pulled at the torn cloth of the man's tunic to assess the extent of injury. He felt across the chest for blood, but found nothing. He felt the body tremble below him and thought that Boromir might have hit his head as he fell, until he heard the deep rumble of laughter. 

Legolas looked up the man's face to see it split in a wide grin, a maniacal sort of look in his eyes and as he chortled louder. 

It seemed that Nephryn had pulled her blade back quick enough. Legolas stood and turned to where Nephryn stood, dazed and pale. 

"He is uninjured," the elf-prince declared, exhaling deeply. Nephryn edged closer and, as she saw the bemused smirk on Boromir's face, her face hardened in anger. 

"What are you doing out here?" she whispered furiously. Legolas placed a restraining hand on her shoulder but the elf-maid shrugged him off and drew herself face to face with Boromir as he stood. 

"What were you thinking? I might have killed you?" 

Boromir glared at from hooded eyes as he swaggered over to stand toe to toe, bearing down menacingly, "You didn't, but I would wage that it is what you wanted!!"

Nephryn squinted at him, looking for any sign of the rational man inside this crazed being. 

"I would nev- " She did not get the chance to finish the sentence, because Boromir leaned down and pinched her shoulders hard, shaking her as he spoke in hushed sinister breaths.

"I will have the Ring." He spat angrily. 

In the instant Legolas saw Boromir's hands fall on the Nephryn's shoulders, he launched himself between them and pushed Boromir back with a power that sent him stumbling. The elf-prince stood in front of Nephryn as he watched the man blink, the force of the blow appearing to bring him to his senses.  

For a long moment, Nephryn stared in shock at the man slumped on the ground, for he was not the man who'd assailed her mere seconds before. She knew that it was the work of the Ring, and the same realisation was beginning to down on Boromir. 

"What have I done," he whispered, staring at his hands as though he imagined they were covered in blood, a look of terror on his face. He jumped to his feet and took off in a run back toward the camp. 

Legolas was about to go after him, when Nephryn held him back.

"Don't," she muttered dejectedly, "that was my fault. I should have looked to see what I was attacking." 

Legolas nodded but tilted her face to him, reassurance etched plainly on his features, "Nonetheless, he should not have been out here." 

For the rest of their watch, Legolas and Nephryn kept watch near the camp, where they could keep Boromir clearly in their sights. He appeared to sleep, but he kept his back to them and did not stir so they could not be sure. 

The strange encounter troubled Nephryn greatly, and with every passing hour, she regretted more her impulsive actions.  She could see that his behaviour was not natural but wrought by the Ring, and its influence only manifested itself in brief moments, but it did not make him any less dangerous. 

When her watch was done, sleep would not come, and she lay next to Legolas staring into the night sky, willing dawn to break, so that the strange events of the night would fade from her mind. Boromir seemed at times to be completely consumed by the Ring. She fully appreciated that, were it not for her skill with the knife and supreme mental effort she could not have pulled back what would have been a fatal blow. But what troubled her more was the knowledge that she would never before have been so hasty to let the blade fall on an unknown foe. She knew in that instant that it had been misguided to lecture Boromir that the sway of the Ring affected all, but it had been truly foolish to do so while she lulled in the self-made belief that she was immune to it.


	18. Flight

Ok. This is kind of where the action is, and it'll continue for about three or four chapters. I make no more predictions because its painfully obvious to all that I keep very bad track of what is coming next. Anyway, I'll try (for pretty much everyone's sake) to post them up in quick succession (hey, check out my serious authors note: no funny stuff here!!) If you've read the book, you know what's coming up but I've tried my best to put my unique touch in it. Please, please let me know if all I'm doing is repeating the book. Sometimes it's hard to avoid 'cos Tolkien had some pretty indispensable ideas, ya know?? 

Their final day on the great River dawned warm and clear, mockingly heralding a bright, lively day as the company arose to their most important decision: east or west?

If they went west, it would be to Minas Tirith, along the Entwash. Though Boromir proudly insisted that the towers in Minas Tirith were continuously guarded and hunting parties frequently ventured into the plains to pursue and drive back dark creatures, it had been nigh on a full year since the Steward had laid eyes on or even had tidings of his home. 

To proceed east was to court the darkness directly, for as Aragorn cast his tired eyes to the horizon, it was the shadowed peak of Mordor and Orodruin that greeted him. Inwardly he shivered, but outwardly, he cast his eyes back to where the Ringbearer sat hunched on his bedroll. He woken several times in the night, not from troubled dreams but because he'd seen the faint glow of the sting. 

The greatsword lay next to him, and though it was sheathed, Aragorn could still see the hilt of the blade glow a faint moonlight blue. Though he could not be sure, Aragorn bested guessed that it was Orcs on the eastern slopes of Amon Lhaw, for never in his many years had he heard of or witnessed Orcs on this shore. But as it had been noted many times already, they lived now in strange and uncertain times. Anything was possible and it would be in their best interests not to dismiss any possibilities. 

Legolas walked up behind and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He'd spoken already with the elf-prince, for the disturbances the previous night had not gone unnoticed by him. The episode with Boromir troubled Aragorn greatly, but the Ranger knew too well that it would not be long before the sustained presence of the Ring would taint them all. He only hoped that they would have enough collective will to carry them to Mordor. 

"We would do well to move soon," the elf murmured to Aragorn. He merely nodded in response. He was loath to impart yet another burden on the hobbit, but the decision as to their next destination was Frodo's. Gandalf may have had his own ideas as to which route to follow, but Aragorn was painfully aware that the great wizard was departed and so the decision was now left to Frodo. 

Slowly, Aragorn approached the halfling and knelt down before him. There was trepidation in Frodo's wide eyes and he knew even before Aragorn spoke that there was yet another choice to consider. He exhaled forcibly as Aragorn spoke.

"Frodo, we must make haste I fear. You must choose with path we are to take to Mordor: east or west? The judgement must be made here."

The hobbit looked out at him through squinted eyes as he pondered the same question that had plagued him all night. He was no closer now to an answer than he was when he'd laid down the previous night. 

"I know that haste is needed, yet I cannot choose. Give me an hour longer, and I will speak. Let me be alone!" 

Aragorn nodded, accepting that the boy was torn in his thoughts. He watched as Frodo wandered off, shuffling on the damp ground, one hand stuffed into a pocket and the other where it seemed to linger perpetually: toying with tiny curse that was the focus of all their worries. 

For half an hour or so, as they waited the company moved about their camp idly. Legolas continued to watch out over the waters, peering over to the farther shores, distracted away from even Nephryn. The elf-maid sat on a log. She bedroll and pack sat next to her and she seemed to stare blankly, lost in thought, while at the same time some portion of her attention lingered on Boromir, for when the man moved at all, she would look up and frown. She seemed to be waiting for the influence of the Ring to reassert itself. 

When Boromir stood abruptly and walked off in the direction that Frodo had taken, Nephryn looked up and stared after him, questions hovering on her lips. She appeared as though she wanted to say something but then thought better of it and returned her gaze to the ground. 

To his surprise, he watched as Sam stood and walked over to the elf-maid and sat down beside her. Since the night when she'd blessed Frodo to stay the demons that had plagued his dreams, Sam had a new found respect and liking for Nephryn. As he sat beside her now, he didn't speak at first but then appeared to draw the courage to engage her. When he spoke, Nephryn looked at him and smiled at what he said, but even from his vantage, Aragorn could see that her heart was not in the conversation. She was deeply troubled by what had occurred with Boromir. 

Aragorn walked over behind Legolas. He did not need to call the elf for keen elven ears had already betrayed his approach. 

"What is it, my friend? He queried lightly.  

"What really happened last night?" The man did not look at Legolas as he spoke, but the elf could see unease and uncertainly in the set of his dark face.

Legolas looked over at him in surprise. They'd had a lengthy conversation about it this morning. It had appeared to Legolas then that all of the Ranger's questions had been answered, but now that seemed not to be the case. 

"What do you mean exactly?" 

Aragorn turned to him then, looking Legolas straight in the eye.

"Does Nephryn know something that she does not share with us? She appeared very troubled by what happened."

For a long time, the elf did not answer for he was unsure as to how much of the elf-maid's worries he ought to reveal. Nephryn had not spoken to him of her fears, but he saw the realisation in her eyes last night that the lure of the Ring affected them all.

"Last night," the elf spoke quietly, "I think she felt the effects of the Ring for the first time. She was careless and perhaps angry, and she let her blade fall fast and hard without knowing what it was she attacked. It was an easy trap to fall into, but she believes that it was the influence of the Ring."

Aragorn frowned at him. It was true that since they'd left Rivendell all had felt the insidious claw of the Ring at the edges of their beings, but long had he believed that the hearts and minds of elves were less corruptible than those of men. 

"And what do you believe?" Aragorn murmured.

"I do not believe that it was what she believes. I think that, contrary to her confident face, Nephryn is as scared as the rest of us, and what's more, she has less experience in battle than you or I. Her actions were borne out of fear and instinct. No more. I cannot convince her of this. It is something she must resolve herself." 

Legolas's words seemed more rational to the Ranger and he nodded in silent thought.

Both of them were drawn from their thought when they heard Pippen and Merry yelling loudly to Boromir, who had reappeared. 

"Where is Frodo?" 

"Did you see him?"

"We believed he was with you?"

The hobbits questions muddled together such that Boromir would not answer and only looked on with a bemused expression on his face. Aragorn strode down toward them and his commanding voice carrying over the hobbits befuddled queries.

"Where have you been, Boromir? Have you seen Frodo?"

Boromir considered the question with pause.

"Yes and no," he replied, "I found him someway up on the hill. I spoke with him and urged him to go to Minas Tirith, and not to the East. We disagreed, he grew angry and he left me. He must have used the Ring for I could not find him anywhere. I had thought him returned to you."

As he spoke, to all he seemed dazed and unsure of his words.

"Is that all that you have to say?" Aragorn asked, his tone harsh and tempered. 

The hobbits began to fret, appealing to Aragorn that they should look for him. Aragorn looked across to Legolas, where he stood next to Gimli and Nephryn. All three looked worried. 

"How long since you last saw Frodo, Boromir?" 

The man's expression had changed rapidly from a state of stupor, to that of concern and even guilt. 

"Half an hour, maybe," he mumbled, "A little more, perhaps. I wandered for a while after that. I don't know. I don't know."

An hour? Aragorn knew that this was trouble. The fellowship would be lost, scattered. A panic gripped the group suddenly. 

On his short legs, Sam took off, followed quickly by Pippen and Merry. Aragorn shook Boromir out of his slumped state and motioned that he follow the hobbits. 

"Protect them at least," the Ranger yelled as Boromir chased off after the hobbits. He beckoned to the remainder who now stood ready with their weapons, awaiting his instruction. 

"Gimli, you and Legolas go north into the woods. Go no further than you believe Frodo could have gone on foot. Nephryn come with me."

There was no hesitation on her part and she kept his pace easily as they sprinted up the crest deeper into the wood. In minutes they came across Sam. There was no sign of the other Hobbits of Boromir. Sam was breathing hard, and was stricken with panic, lost and unsure as to what he should do. 

He looked relieved as he saw Nephryn and Aragorn rise up over the crest. The poor hobbit could barely get a word out, so caught was he for breath. 

"Whoa Sam!" Aragorn soothed. "Stop, for you cannot run. Use your head instead. Where would Frodo go??"

Aragorn watched as the boy wracked his brain, the possibilities running over his face and he murmured to himself. Suddenly his face brightened and his eyes widened. 

"Of course," he shouted, "the boats!" 

Aragorn nodded, to his and turned to Nephryn. 

"Go with him. If you find Frodo, detain him as long as you can and return him to the camp." 

Nephryn nodded tersely and together she and the hobbit set off at a slow jog. Aragorn watched as they departed and then took off up the hill at a sprint. If they were to be scattered now, they would surely fail in their task.

Reviews, reviews, reviews, reviews, reviews, reviews, reviews, reviews. Please??? : p


	19. Fight

As many before me have said, "A man lives only to fight and love!" Actually, only one guy said that. Some poet around the time of WWI. I think it's appropriate for the forthcoming chapter, but I'm really not sure if it applies to those of the female persuasion, elves or otherwise. Come to think of it, I'm not sure it even applies to men anymore. I mean, we've got more going for us now than bayonets and monogamy, right??

As she ran down the uneven slopes, Nephryn focused on the ground, trying as best she could to lead them on the most direct path to the river. But her sense of direction had never been very good when there was no trail to follow. If Frodo had passed through here, the trail was very light and highly irregular. She became gradually aware of Sam's ever-more laboured breathing and realised that she had unwittingly increased their pace, for she was used to such tracking on her own. She forced herself to slow, at the same time tightening her grip on the halfling's arm. 

"Do – you – think that Mr Frodo – is in – trouble?" The question came gasping from Sam's mouth as the edged down the steepest portion of the slope. Nephryn did not miss the tone of fear and panic in his voice. 

"I do not know. It is possible that he merely wished to be alone and lost count of the minutes. Such things happen when one is worried or preoccupied." 

Though she did not look across to the faithful hobbit, she knew that his words did little to comfort him. Indeed the forced bravado sounded hollow even to her own ears. 

"Fear not, Samwise Gamgee. If the Ringbearer is in danger, we will help him." 

As she ran on, Nephryn missed the silently breathed 'I know' from Sam. 

Suddenly, they heard a thump and crash behind them. Nephryn dragged them both to a halt. Sam was about to speak, but she held up her hand to still him. Her keen ears strained to pick out sounds. She could hear thrashing sounds, and they drew inexorably closer. She could not what was making the sound, but knew that it most definitely not one of their group, for not even Gimli was so loud and ungainly. 

Her instincts screamed for her to act and hers eyes darted uncertainly across the top of the hill over which they'd come. There was no doubt in her mind now that there was danger behind them. She turned to Sam and held him by both shoulders. 

"Listen to me," she whispered urgently, "there is something over that hill. I do not yet know what, but it may well be dangerous. I want you to go to the river. If Frodo is there, stay there with him and hide in the boats. If he is not, do not search further. Stay there until I come to get you."

Sam began to shake his head, clearly uncomfortable both at the prospect of abandoning her and being alone and defenceless himself. 

"No," he mumbled, "I cannot leave…"

"Sam!" she urged more insistently now. "You must go. If there are enemies up there, I will stay them as long as possible. If not, then there is no danger and we are merely being cautious."

The panicked hobbit considered this and appeared to accept it as the most logical course of action. All the while, Nephryn kept one eye squarely of the ridge, watching for any betraying movement.

Just as the halfling turned to run, Nephryn held him back and pulled out Legolas's dagger from its sheath on her hip. She pushed the hilt of it into the hobbit's fist. 

"I do not know how to use this!!" He frowned, staring down at it. 

Nephryn stared at him. In other circumstances she might even have laughed. It was a dagger. There wasn't very much skill in knifing your enemy and taking flight. 

"Use it as a last resort. Just take it and go!!" 

She watched his progress as he half-slipped, half-ran down the incline and sprinted off once he hit the flat. She breathed a relief as he disappeared. Now she had only herself to protect. This she could do, for she'd had to in order to get away from Isengard. 

Silently she crept back up the bank, bow in one hand and two arrows in the other. She stayed low on her haunches, moving so fluidly that her view of the horizon remained utterly steady. As she neared the top, she could her voices; rough, rasping tones that barked out words. She knew of only one creature that made such sounds. The words were clearer now and she recognised it as Black Speak, the language of the Orcs. 

Nephryn knew that she needed to see how many she faced in order to make her decision whether to fight or run. She made a diagonal line across and reached the top of the ridge at such a vantage that the dark creatures had their backs to her. 

From her position, she counted five. They stood together, inspecting a trail that led over the top of the hill.  Sam's tracks, she realised frantically. They would follow it all the way to the boat. There and then the decision was made for her. She would have to fight. 

These five would have to be dealt with quietly, so as not to raise the attention of others, for there were undoubtedly more of them as Orcs travelled in packs of twenty or so. From her position, she had a clear shot of two. Furtively, she crept forward and as she did, she nocked both arrows to the bow. Her hands shook momentarily and it took all of her will to steady them. 

Her knuckles were white from the power of her grip and she raised the readied bow slowly and steadily. As she did, she rose up from her cover and dropped her head to sight down the arrows. For a split second she held herself utterly still as she adjusted her aim minutely. In that second she was spotted by her targets but it mattered not, for as they realised their trap, she released the single finger that kept the arrows held. 

Her aim was impeccable and the arrows felled both Orcs instantly. She did not wait to see the reaction of the rest, but took off at a run across the top of the ridge, back toward the camp and away from Sam. She would have to dispense with them quickly though, for neither could she bring them upon their camp. 

The elf maid changed course suddenly and veered again toward the river. She ran easily now uninhibited by the rough, uneven terrain but branches whipped at her face like stinging rain. Her view had shrunk to a tunnel-like blur of the foliage that mingled into one grey-green and whipped past her in a blur. The Orcs were slower to follow and she found that she had doubled back on one. She pulled another arrow and waited with baited breath until she had a clear line of sight, and then loosed the arrow. The cumbersome Orc fell quickly and rolled down the incline until it collided solidly with the bole of a large tree. 

She turned to run again toward the river, but saw that another had looped down to the river and was now approaching her from below. There were only two, so where was the last one? There was no choice but to go where she knew that there were none and that was toward the camp. She ran again, this time taking the straightest path but jumping high and ducking low to make it more difficult to target her. 

Nephryn was about to jump over a large, uprooted tree when the fifth and final Orc emerged directly in her path. She could not stifle a scream as she careened into it. She lashed out with her bow for it was all she had to hand. She beat it back and fumbled frantically for her dagger, but moaned as she remembered that she'd given it to Sam. She might have had the skill to battles swords with one Orc, but she knew that with another close on her heels it would be a death warrant.

The seething creature that circled her now held no crossbow, but the longsword it wielded would be equally effective. The elf-maid had one remaining arrow to hand and she fingered it now. She could not shoot for she would be dead, cleaved in half, before she could even set aim. Without warning, he lunged at her and she shrieked, sidestepping him and stumbling at the same time. As he passed her, her arms drove out instinctively to wield the knife on him. There was no knife, but before she even realised what had happened, the Orc slackened and crumpled at her feet, the reed-thin arrow embedded in his neck. 

Bewildered, she stared down at the figure, hypnotised by its grotesque death, curious how it happened for she did not believe that she could brandish an arrow with such strength. She heard movement behind her and the dark recesses of her memory screamed to her. The last Orc!! Her quiver was empty. No sword. No dagger. The Orc was running up toward her at full tilt now, broadsword drawn, for it could see well enough that she was unarmed. 

She looked down at the fallen Orc and she realised that there was but one option. Swallowing bile and grimacing, Nephryn bent down and pulled to the arrow from the Orc's neck. Time slowed and blood pounded in her ears as she struggled to set it. It was awash in blood and slime and she could not grip it to pull it back far enough for any measurable force. There was no time left though and she released her wavering grip and the arrow shot forth. It hit the Orc on the side of its neck, but the fell creature did not slow. 

The instinct to flee rose up like a fever but she was gripped by fear and shock, and stood rooted to the spot, an eerie calm descending on her. She watched as the Orc tried to raise the sword, but could not. It began to falter and its legs twisted under it as the wound began to take toll. As she stood there, in a trance like stupor, gasping for breath, she did not know if her luck would hold. He drew ever closer, drawing his sword back and at the same time, stumbling further off his path. She raised her hand and bow to deflect the blow, but it never came. 

At the very last moment, the foul creature's strength ebbed and it dropped at feet with a sickly thud. The flat of the broadsword thumped heavily at Nephryn's ankle as it clattered to the ground, its hilt still in the death grip of its master. The only sound came as the blood from the seeming fatal wound to its neck gurgled and flowed freely, pooling blackly on the moss green ground. That sound and the current of pain that reverberated up her leg were the only sensations Nephryn was aware of for several moments as time crawled and blurred.

At last she looked out though her raised arms, at the fallen Orc. It was dead, the long brightly feathered arrow protruding brokenly from its neck. Still she could not move. She gaped aghast at the slaughter around her. Her clothes were heavily stained with the blacked blood, and she could feel heat blaze from grazes on her face. She could not choke back a hysterical giggle that broke the eerie silence. The hiccupped laugh came in gasps and soon the tears flowed from her eyes. The pale, exhausted elf-maid sank to the ground, and sobs shook her shoulders as she cowered down in the blood bath wrought by her own hand. 

Soon the stench of death and the belated shock assaulted her, and she stood on weak legs and stumbled away from the dead creatures. Nausea washed over her and she knelt down and let it come. Cold sweat broke across her brow and her senses numbed. Her bow still clutched in one hand, she picked herself up and staggered down the incline to the river. She was vaguely aware that the boats would only be around the next cove, but an unquenchable desire to wash away the black slime that had imbued her every orifice demanded that she stop at the water. 

Nephryn collapsed at the bank, plunged deadened hands into the cool water and bent her face into it, letting it dribble over her face and down her tunic. She closed her eyes, achingly tired of sight without the sense of feeling, only able imagine the cool sensation of water over her grazes cheeks. Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes and stood, feeling only slightly more surefooted. She longed for Legolas, but she knew that now was not the time for such wanton and desperate thoughts.  

Feeling washed down her limbs as blood began to flow once more, and she broke into a jog along the bank. Nephryn was almost round the last curve of the bank when she realised that she was utterly defenceless. She smirked cynically to herself. How unlike her it was to be so unprepared. Yet she could not bring herself not to proceed, for she owed a debt of protection to the halflings, even if it was with her bare hands. 

Her keen eyes glanced over the surrounding hills and then out onto the river. She did not notice anything untoward at first, but then out on the water, near the shores of Tol Brandir, a flash of blue drew her gaze. She squinted at it, slowing to a halt and shading her eyes with one hand. To her dismay, she could make out a boat and two small figures aboard. The blue glow that had caught her gaze was the Sting, Frodo's sword; alive in colour for the woods was not doubt awash with foul Orcs.

"No!" She breathed aloud. 

She had failed. Frodo had taken Sam and they would surely continue onto Mordor alone, without the bearer of the Vessel at their sides. Quickly she swallowed back a beckon forming on her lips. It would do no good now to alert the Orcs to theirs and her own presence. She stood disconsolately at the bank, tears welling in her eyes as she pondered what the fellowship of the Ring would do now that the Ring was no longer in their care. 

She might have lingered there indefinitely, but the deep resonant drone of a horn pierced the air broke her exhausted trance. The Horn of Boromir! The Steward of Gondor was under siege. Casting tearful eyes to the vanishing Ringbearer once more, she murmured silent prayer and took off at a run toward the camp, pausing only to retrieve the broadsword of the fallen Orc.

Well, was there an proper amount of blood, guts, gore, entrails and terror there to class it as an 'action filled chapter' that has thus far been lacking? Want more?


	20. Torn

Ooooohhhh. The exams are done 4 another year. Yippee. As you can tell, I'm a bit happy and the creatives juices flow forth once more. That's also a yay. Here's the next chapter for all you impatient fans (who I love soooooo much, by the way).

AND FYI, I've started a nu story. Will be posted as an original (cos that's what I think it is) and if you like my style of story telling, and you love a hero and a bit of angst and fighting and hopelessness and even a few laughs (whew!! That is some hitlist) then check it out. Its provisional title is the lead character's name "Teryn", but only because my brain is stalled on go story titles. If you don't like the title, read it and suggest a better one. Thanks. 

The bow of Lothlorién sang and Orcs fell and Legolas and Gimli battled valiantly to stay sea of Orcs that came in washes from the hills now. Each time Legolas loosed an arrow, he pulled another from the quiver that was pulled high on his broad back. Gimli battled now both throwing axes, for he'd had to relinquish his walking-axe when he'd embedded it deeply into the skull of one of the fell creatures. The elf and dwarf stood back to back. It was a most unusual pairing, for Legolas was tall and fluid where Gimli was short and sturdy, the elf lightening fast where the dwarf was unnaturally strong. Nonetheless, they made quite the effective pairing in battle. As they circled in unison, their guard held ready none of the Orcs got more than two arms length near them, before they were mortally wounded.

Gimli breathed heavily, the solid reassuring weight of his axes allowing him to cast his gaze beyond the swarm of Orcs. There seemed to be no more, but he could not tell for certain. He called gruffly to the elf that shielded his back. 

"This may be the last of the plague. What say you?"

Legolas too allowed himself a brief glance around. He was not out of breath, but the acrid stench of spilled Orc blood assailed his senses, and he forced himself to breath through his mouth. His keener sight could not discern any more Orcs than the dozen or so that circled them now, but that was no reason to drop their guard. In the back of his mind he prayed that Nephryn remained safe, and that they'd their stray hobbits.

Mere moments later, Legolas and Gimli had cut the foul creatures number to three. Legolas realised quickly that his quiver was empty and he reached back and pulled out both longknives. More caution was needed now for the elf knew that Orcs wielded their swords skilfully and Legolas was no match in strength for them. 

At his back, Gimli bellowed in pain as he caught a glancing blow to the arm. It was forceful enough that it would have severed his arm completely but for the mystical mithril armour he wore. In a rage, Gimli swung both axes with frightening speed and cleaved the Orc's head from its body, before turning his menace on the last Orc. 

Legolas circled his opponent slowly, deftly sidestepping each blow. He could continue like so for hours, and he would wear the Orc down and win. But the elf was very aware that they could not afford such a luxury. He was startled when he heard Gimli's loud roar, and it took all his will not to look for the dwarf. Such a distraction was all the Orc needed and he laid in with a series of swift blows. Legolas jumped back but not quickly enough, and the broadsword cut deep into the muscle of his right arm. 

Legolas hissed in pain, but resisted cradling the injury. Already, the limb was beginning to numb. Soon it would be useless and he would have to fight with one knife. He would lose. Decision made, the elf gritted his teeth and swung forward with his good hand. The distraction was perfect for the Orc did not expect that the injured elf could use his wounded arm and brought up his broadsword to deflect the blow, and as Legolas brought the other knife around, the Orc was completely vulnerable. The stroke was wielded with such force that blade cut deep into the creature's throat snapping its neck, killing it instantly. 

Legolas groaned loudly as spasms of pain rippled up his arm. He dropped both knives as he dropped to his knees and cradled the limb. It was utterly limp but the pain that radiated from it was dizzying. He looked around for Gimli and saw the dwarf approach him. It seemed that the skilful warrior had dealt swiftly with his lot. 

"Are you injured?" He called as stooped to pull his walking-axe from the skull of an Orc. 

"Alas I was not cautious enough. But I shall live I think."  

Gimli moved around to inspect the wound, but both stopped short as a rich resounding drone cut the air. Legolas immediately recognised it as the sound of Boromir's horn. Gimli picked up the elf's longknives and carried one, handing the other for the elf to wield with his uninjured arm. They ran together back to the camp. 

Even though he ran with customary ease, the forest swam before Legolas. Blood flowed down his arm, saturating his tunic, staunching every so often, but always reopening as broken terrain jarred his body. He could not stop the fearful thoughts that plagued him as her ran. He feared greatly for Nephryn, and in his heart he knew that Frodo was long gone. Now would they lose Boromir also?

  As the reached the last crest before the camp, Gimli pulled up short and stared down at the scene below. The Steward of Gondor lay on the ground, his head cradled in Aragorn's lap. His body was riddled with arrows. Legolas looked on in shock, and was ushered by Gimli down the slopes to where Boromir lay slain. 

Though the elf was appalled at the sight before, he could not help but to glance around for the elf-maid. She was nowhere to be seen. 

"Boromir is dead." Aragorn murmured brokenly. "I found him like so, and he died defending the hobbits."

Legolas frowned as it dawned on him that the hobbits were also missing. 

"Where are they?" he mumbled, beset by confusion. His head was light now and he felt as though this was all some frightful nightmare, wrought by too many waking nights and tense days. 

"I do not know. I sent him to follow Merry and Pippen, but he died before he could tell me their fate. I do not know where Frodo and Sam are." 

Aragorn sighed deeply closing his eyes as though to hold back anguished tears that stung his eyes.

"Frodo and Sam are gone."

Legolas was startled by the soft voice that sounded behind him. He breathed relief as he saw Nephryn creep lightly down toward them. As she drew near, he frowned and started toward her. He could see now that she'd met also with trouble. She was deathly pale and her face was smattered with angry reddened grazes and purple bruises. He could see a limp in her gait now and as she edged down the slope, she leaned heavily on a broadsword. A thin line of blood seeped from a long cut across her collarbone, as though something had tried and nearly succeeded in cutting her throat. 

Her haunted eyes were fixed on the fallen Boromir, and unconsciously, she reached out for Legolas as she neared him. He drew her into a comforting embrace, relishing in the feel of her, and the relief that washed over him was a soothing balm to this fractious thoughts. As he held her close, he felt for any more injuries, but found nothing. She shook against him and buried her face in his shoulder. 

Unbidden, he gasped she unwittingly pressed against his wounded arm. The pain made him sway and he was forced to lean heavily on the elf-maid's smaller frame. She looked up at him, confused and her breath caught as she noticed his arm for the first time. 

"What did you mean when you said that Frodo and Sam were gone?" Aragorn asked as he looked up to them.

Nephryn looked at him torpidly, trying to focus on his question. Aragorn stood then, having laid his cloak over Boromir's bloodied body. He approached them in trepidation, afeared of what she might tell him.

"I was with Sam, when we were set upon by Orcs. I sent him to the boats, and I held them off, for they came upon our trail. When I reached the boats, I was too late, for Frodo had taken Sam and gone across the river, to the eastern shore." 

Aragorn looked both dismayed and relieved at the words. He was very glad that the pair had escaped seeming unscathed, but it seemed that he'd failed in his duties to escort the hobbit to Mordor. They would go it alone now, unprotected as the entered the fetid realm of Sauron. He nodded and then went back to where the body of Boromir lay, and began to remove the arrows that had struck him.

Nephryn did not speak, but turned and led Legolas over to where their belongings still sat. He collapsed down against the trunk of a large oak, and sat as the effects of his wound took hold. Nephryn knelt down before him and began to remove his tunic. Shaking fingers fumbled with the clasp and she paled further as she drew the cloth away from the skin. The blood had dried, and she flinched visibly as the mottled blood tugged the wound open once more. 

Legolas remained utterly still and silent; watching as her slim fingers gently pried away the cloth that clung to the skin. The elf-maid reached into a satchel and retrieved a flagon of water and some gauze. Methodically, she cleaned the wound and applied an Athelas salve. Then she dressed the wound in several layers of heavy muslin strips. She tied the strips in place and sat back to survey the work.

All the while, Legolas had watched her. Her eyes had misted over with tears, but stubbornly she refused to look at him. With his good arm, he reached out and caressed her face. She leaned in, yearning for his comforting touch. She closed her eyes, and a single tear slipped down her bruised cheek. Unable to speak or even hold herself upright, Nephryn leaned down and lay her head on her knees. Her silken hair was damp and it fell forward, pooling on the ground. Her shoulders shook as tears flowed silently. She cried for their loss: Boromir, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippen, the fellowship… 

Legolas pressed his hand to her back and stroked her neck and hair. He could do no more, for weakness had permeated deep into his body. As quickly as they'd appeared, Nephryn's tears subsided. She sat up and pushed away the wetness, streaking dirt and blood across her face. She stood wordlessly and pulled a fresh tunic from Legolas's pack and handed it to him as she knelt next to him. Then she soaked some cloth in water and pressed it over her face, grimacing as the cloth pulled at the grazes on her face. 

"Let me," Legolas murmured, breaking the silence and taking the cloth from her. 

She tipped her face toward him and closed her eyes, as he dabbed gently at her features. She inhaled deeply and allowed her shoulders to relax. Wordlessly, Legolas pulled her down to the ground next to him and she lay back, resting her head in his lap, while he continued his ministrations. When her face was clean, he used the same Athelas balm and daubed it as lightly as possible over the bruised and broken skin.

When her facial wounds were cleaned, Legolas moved to the long cut that snaked along her collarbone. Nephryn had lulled in his arms, in a half-waking state, but as he touched the damp compress to the cut, her eyes flashed open and her hand flew to the wound, batting at his hands. He murmured softly to her, pushing her hands away. She relented but kept her eyes open, staring at his face, as his proud jaw caught the shadows and evening light flecked his blue eyes gold. Her heart hurt as she saw tears well in his eyes. 

"What is to become of us now?" She whispered, more to herself than to anything else. 

But Legolas looked down at her. She looked as he felt: that this was a manifestation of overwrought minds. But he knew, as did she, that their wounds and their sorrow hurt far too much for this to be a dream. 

"That is not for me to decide. The choice is Aragorn's, though I wonder if he shall ever feel content in taking decisions anymore. This journey has been blow after blow to the morale of all." 

As the elf-prince spoke, he regarded the Ranger. Aragorn stood at the brim of the glade, looking out over the river. He and Gimli had cleaned the body and prepared it for burial, but Aragorn had yet to decide how they would bury the brave warrior. Gimli sat, mere feet away. Though he worked vigorously to clean the heavy stains from the many blades, Legolas could see that he was as lost in thought as the rest of them. It was for all of them, a failure on their part, that a comrade was lost and they would bear heavy the burden for many months 

to come. 

Legolas returned his attention to the elf-maid lying before but she too had drifted away in thought, staring up at the clear evening skies, despite the harsh glare or the sun. To him, her face was an open book. He saw her sorrow, but something else as well; guilt perhaps? He did not understand it, and he would not until she chose to share it with him. As though the scrutiny of his stare was suddenly too much to withstand, Nephryn sat up and stood. 

"Where are you going?" he called.

"I must retrieve some of my arrows. My quiver is empty and I cannot wield a broadsword." 

Legolas moved to stand up, no mean feat when he was still light-headed, nor was it made easier when Nephryn placed a hand to stay him. 

"What are you doing," she asked quietly, regarding him sceptically. 

"I will accompany you." 

Nephryn shook her head vehemently, "You need to rest, lest the wound would open again."

Legolas stood, drawing himself to his full height, forcing himself to ignore how the ground swayed beneath him. 

"You cannot go out there alone. You are without a weapon and you are injured." 

She shook her head again, gesturing to his arm as it hung limply at his side, "You have only your knives and even then you cannot use them, and you can barely stand straight. If you come, I shall surely have to carry you back here!" 

In a matter of seconds, what had been a quiet conversation had erupted into a heated argument, not unlike that fateful day in Lothlorién a seeming eternity past. But he would not relent now, for to allow her to go out there alone might well result in tragedy. He could never bear the loss, and right now neither could the remainder of the broken fellowship, and so he levelled at her the one argument that would sway her mind.

"Would you let your stubbornness be the cause of further grief on the black day?" He murmured, looking her squarely in the eyes.

Legolas watched as her features blanched at the suggestion. She stepped back from him, and such hurt he'd never seen on the face of anyone in his life. It almost stilled his heart to think that it was his doing, but the alternative was to let her go out alone and never see her again, and compared to that, anything was bearable. 

She turned and limped away toward Gimli, who had borne sorry witness to the conversation. She bent down to whisper something in the dwarf's ear, to which he nodded gruffly. He stood then, nodded once to Legolas, indicating that he at least understood the reasons for the elf's cruel words. 

Then the dwarf, armed to the teeth with axes, and the limping elf-maid departed into the woods that had seen so many of their number lost that day. Nephryn did not look back once.

By the way I've now reached the milestone of twenty chapters. Also a yay. As you can see I'm quite overdosed on general positive feelings. Lack of exams have that effect you know. 


	21. Truth

Well kiddies, I'm thinking of giving up. On the whole wearing out the brain cells trying to title each chapter. And titling my nu story. And summarising it. In fact, I realise now that I officially _suck_ at all such titling and summarising. I'm just gonna expend my valuable knowledge on more plot for you. And while I'm on the subject of my nu story [ ok I wasn't but I am now OK???] I'm hoping if all works out that a third and possibly fourth chapter will be posted as we speak. 

READ IT!!!! And also this too if you please. Its actually quite ok if you consider what you're about to read acceptable. 

Twenty minutes it took Gimli and his elf companion to reach the site where she'd used her arrows. It was truly the most tense journey of his entire life, and as a dwarf, he generally took such things in his stride but the entire trip, Nephryn Istriél had been silent, stubbornly refusing aid when he offered it despite the fact that he limp slowed their pace. As he stood, he looked around for the lost arrows. 

Nephryn turned to him and spoke softly, not wanting to alert their presence to anyone in the woods. 

"You will find two Orcs directly down from here. They are lying close together. There ought to be two arrows. I will get the others and meet you back here momentarily." 

Gimli simply nodded and trudged in the direction she'd indicated. Surely, not twenty feet across the crest, two Orcs lay slain. Gimli noted as he stooped to grab the arrows that each shot had been instantly fatal, one striking the neck and the other the head. If the elf-maid was nothing else, she was a good shot, albeit very with obstinacy matched only by his late grandfather. 

He chuckled to himself at the thought of comparing the slight, quiet elf to his loud, demanding grandfather. It would be a sight to behold! He lumbered tiredly back to the spot where they'd parted company and saw that the elf maid was limping slowly up the slope. She carried in her hand a set of arrows. As she drew closer, the exhaustion was plainly evident on her face.

He knew well that she'd come out here, not to collect the arrows for that could be done anytime, but to escape the stifling atmosphere of the camp. He too felt it. How could they not? The eerie quiet was a reminder of the missing hobbits and the sight of the forlorn corpse of their lost comrade was testament to their inability to conquer the impossible odds before them. 

There was something else that occupied her too, but it was perhaps a private matter, the details of which he did not know. Nonetheless it appeared to weigh heavily on her.

He was equally aware of the reasons behind Legolas's seeming unkind words. The dwarf had seen the look on the elf's face when he'd seen the state of the elf-maid, and he knew then that Legolas had feared for her all along. Of course she'd proved herself by holding her own out here. She'd done the best any of them could. She'd probably saved the hobbit, Sam's life and she'd stayed alive, but as was always the way with these situations, the trap of questioning ones judgement was easy to fall into and difficult to escape.

As he walked alongside her now, he noted again that their pace had slowed. The injury, coupled with her fatigue and her silent burden of guilt would continue to slow them and he did not anticipate walking in the dark. 

"Would you lean on me Lady," he offered politely, glancing her way in the hope she might accept. 

"I will not," she replied brusquely, staring straight ahead. 

"Your obduracy is blinding you to all the realities of our situation!" he barked, and winced as it sounded rather more harsh than perhaps he'd intended it to. 

The elf-maid stopped at this and turned to face him, wrath plainly set in her features. 

"What do you mean by that," she demanded.

Gimli did not appreciate her tone and so he found himself grinding out the truth to her. 

"You would not accept Legolas's help because you believe it would be a sign of weakness, when in fact his fear for your safety was justified, not because you are weak, but because mere hours before these woods were crawling with foul creatures; creatures that were skilled enough and dangerous enough to kill a comrade and scatter our group!" 

Gimli breathed heavily at the tirade but he was not done. 

"And even now you would refuse aid, despite that unless we raise our pace, we shall pace in darkness! It is blind obstinacy, and I recognise it because it is a trait inherent in all dwarves along with a good degree of common sense!!" 

Gimli almost yelled the last word. He set his walking-axe down in an emphatic thud and watched for a reaction. For a long while, the elf stared at him, taken aback by the outburst, for it was the most he'd said to since they'd met. At last she bowed her head and whispered her reply.

"You are right, of course. I am sorry. I will gladly accept your aid," she muttered humbly, holding out her hand. 

He took her hand and laid it on his shoulder and together they set off at a faster pace. They continued in silence and the dwarf feared that his words were overly harsh, that perhaps she'd experienced enough callousness for one day. 

"Thank you Gimli. You have done me a service in telling me blunt truths."  

"There is no need to thank me, for I would expect the same candour from any of my friends. But please, I you take anything from my harsh words, be it that Legolas said what he did because he cares – no other reason."

With that peace was made between the elf and dwarf and though they did not speak the rest of the journey, the silence was companionable.

When they returned to the camp, they found that between them, Legolas and Aragorn had fashioned a raft on which to lay Boromir's body. They'd agreed to send his down the river to the falls of Rauros, where nature would ensure that no fell creature could sully the fallen comrade. 

As the sun set on the river, Aragorn and Gimli carried their friend to the river, and there the remaining four of the fellowship bade farewell to the Steward of Gondor. They stood in silence on the bank for almost an hour, until the vessel was beyond even elven eyes. Gimli started back toward the camp, followed closely by the Legolas and Nephryn. Aragorn remained at the bank until night fell swift on Amon Hen. They'd agreed to spend the last night there and they would depart at dawn, though where they would go was yet to be decided. 

As she hauled her aching limbs the last leg up the slope to their camp, Nephryn knew she had to make her peace with Legolas tonight, for she would need him. He walked behind, silent but not angry. She slowed her pace and held out her hand. Warmth filled her cold heart for the first time that day as he grasped it lightly. He walked by her side and slipped an arm around her waist to support her as they edged down the glade to their camp. 

Before she lay down to sleep, she changed the dressings on Legolas's arm again. As she tended to him, he stared at her. 

"Will you be able to run tomorrow?" 

She looked up from her work and bit her lip as she pondered his question. 

"It is only bruised, but if I cannot run, you will go on without me and I will catch up."

She returned to the bandages on his arms, but he tilted her head toward him. 

"If you cannot run, I will wait. I will not leave." She was lost in his gaze as she acknowledged all the underlying meaning. 

Nephryn nodded once and finished with the bandage. She pulled his tunic back up over his shoulder, the contact between her fingertips and the sleek muscles of his arms sending chills down her back. They lay down then side-by-side, and she curled in against him, burying her face in the crook of his good arm in feeble attempt to ward the haunting dreams that would ensure that all would have, at best, a fitful sleep.

I think I've always been alone in the belief that Gimli is the voice of sanity and reason among Tolkien's wacky cohort….


	22. Three days

The four forlorn figures rose up before the dawn of the twelfth day on Amon Hen. All had long abandoned an attempt at any sleep and they sat blear-eyed around the dying embers of a meagre fire. The flickering glow cast eerie shadows on their mournful. 

Aragorn's sapphire eyes were reddened for he'd shed tears for their fallen comrade, and now the scorched orange shades of the fire made his face appear hollow and his eyes sunken and sore. Gimli sat in stony silence, his eyes downcast as he rocked slowly in his seat. Legolas sat against the trunk of a tree, his wounded arm limp at his side. His ever-bright eyes were wide and alert and yet, he was lost completely in thought. Even Nephryn was weighed with a bone-crushing weariness that was forceful enough cause her to rest her head against Legolas's shoulder, and yet not quite strong enough to allow any of them to drift into the oblivion of an exhausted sleep.

Aragorn stood abruptly and began to pace, as though some urgency had taken him. His eyes darted back and forth, and it was clear to all that the sharp-minded man was formulating a plan. 

"It is not clear to me now what we are to do, but I believe that, although it has been fraught with tragedy and loss, our journey thus far has been mapped and foreseen by a higher power."

All could see that beneath the sorrow and defeat, there burned in the man's eyes, a grim determination that all that had been lost would not be for nothing. 

"I believe," Aragorn uttered as he paced, "that we must now choose whether to attempt to follow Frodo and Sam to Mordor, or will our presence be better served elsewhere?" 

He stopped then and regarded each of the remainder of their group in turn. All knew that there was no real obligation to continue on, and yet none had even the slightest inclination to abandon what had become their duty. 

"It seems to me that the young Ringbearer has chosen for us." Gimli spoke at last, his voice scratchy and gruff for he'd not spoken at all since they'd arisen almost an hour before. 

"I agree," murmured Legolas, "Frodo was anxious for the welfare of the fellowship, and he saw it as his duty and his alone to destroy the Ring. Besides, they have almost a full day's travel on us. I believe that we should direct our attentions to rescuing Merry and Pippen." 

As soon as Legolas mentioned the missing hobbits' names, his expression darkened, for in all that had happened, the missing pair had been of little concern, perhaps less than they ought to have been.

"Then it is settled. We shall follow the Orcs west, and rescue the brave halflings who gave so selflessly to this cause."

The indecision was suddenly gone and it infused the four with energy they had not felt for too long in their travels. They packed their supplies quickly taking only what was necessary. Legolas watched closely as Nephryn stood and moved around. It appeared that her ankle had improved overnight and she moved now without a limp. Both had spent some time that morning retrieving and repairing arrows and they now carried full quivers.

Gimli had cleaned and sharpened his axes and stood at ready now as Aragorn hefted his pack onto his shoulders and sheathed the Narsil. They departed quickly, trudging through the blood bath that had seen their number halved. As they walked, they noticed on the helms of four of the slain creatures was a rune in the shape of an 'S'. 

"I have not seen these tokens before," muttered Aragorn, his voice a peculiar mix of scorn and curiosity. "What do they mean?"

"S for Sauron," Gimli exclaimed loudly, "that is easy to read!"

Aragorn had stopped and was inspecting the corpse closely for some indication of its origins.

"Nay," said Legolas, "Sauron does not use his right name, or permit that it be written or spoken. The Orcs in his service use the sign of the Red Eye." 

Nephryn stood a little away from the bodies and regarded them with open fear. 

"Saruman!" she whispered, and all three turned to regard her. Her face had blanched and she stared at the white markings as though they heralded a great doom. 

Aragorn watched her closely for he knew, as did Legolas, that it was at the hand of the Istari that she'd suffered most and it was right that she would fear him so.

"If indeed it is Saruman," Aragorn spoke at length, " then evil is afoot at Isengard. The west is not safe as we might once have considered it so. He may well have news of our journey as Gandalf feared. We must travel quickly, and we must be cautious."

Without any further thought, Aragorn walked away and began to jog lightly. Gimli, Legolas and Nephryn followed swiftly. As the dwarf drew up alongside Aragorn, he spoke under his breath, "It will be a long chase: they have a long start."

"Yes," Aragorn replied, "we shall need all the endurance of dwarves. But come! With or without hope we will follow the trail, and woe to them if we prove the swifter. We shall make such a chase as shall be accounted a marvel among the Three Kindreds: Elves, Dwarves and Men. Forth the four hunters!"

They ran then in long loping strides that were impelled by the need to recover their lost charges from the fell creatures. They left in their wake the shores of Amon Hen, glowing in the pale dawn, having born witness to the tragedy and loss of such a group as Middle Earth had never before seen.

Short. I know. More to follow soon. 

Read Teryn please…


	23. Chapter 23

Nephryn felt every pebble and stone on the hard ground, through leather boots that had never seen such travels. For a solid day they had run. The sun rose quickly when they'd departed Amon Hen, and she was so glad to be away from the harsh reminders of Isengard that she herself had set the pace for most of the day. She'd run on long legs, the wind in her hair and face, dispelling the reek of death that had lingered for too long. She'd not sought the distraction of conversation or the comfort of even someone's presence beside her until now. 

Legolas had increased his already fast pace until he ran alongside her. It was as though he'd sensed her need for comfort. She did not speak, because her breathing was laboured by the fast pace. Ahead, the plains of Rohan loomed long and flat, the orange evening casting dull, opaque shadows as it sunk down on the horizon. 

Every muscle in her body screamed that she stop, but she could not. She needed to prove that she was able for this journey and the others, even Gimli, showed no sign of tiredness. She was determined not to be cause for delay. She focused on the ground in front of her, subconsciously matching her strides and her breathing to that of the elf alongside her. 

For another hour, she continued like that. Dusk had fallen sharp and now the sun was gone, leaving behind only the light that clung to the land and even that waned and mingled with the shadows. The moon shone bright, though not enough for her liking, for it seemed that evil beckoned from all the shade. Her ankle throbbed painfully now, and it was only by sheer force of will that she ignored it. A soft sheen of sweat gleamed on her forehead, and it felt like a cool cloth against her skin as it caught the evening breeze.  

Legolas could see that she was in pain, though not from her gait, for she did not limp. No, it was the way she pressed her lips together in a thin line, the way her fisted were clenched and the single line that creased her forehead that spoke volumes of her suffering. And stubborn thing that she was, she would not be the one to call a halt to their chase unless her body would betray her and she would stumble. Neither would Legolas stop, because he knew that she would take such a gesture as one of pity. 

So he stayed at her side, watching her like a hawk, lest she trip or succumb to the incessant dizziness that plagued them all by now. In the end, it was Aragorn himself that called them to rest. He could see better than any that the elf-maid would surely do herself harm if she did not rest. They came to the foot of stony hills, and their pace had ebbed because the ground was less even and their minds less sharp. 

"We will stop for a while, for if we continue at this pace and encounter trouble we will be ill equipped to deal with it." 

Aragorn said no more then. He threw his pack to the ground and trudged to the tip of a small rise. He stood there for a while, his sharp eyes drinking the familiar sight if the plains of Rohan. The winds that carried across the great divide brought with them the salt of the western shores and they seemed to pluck up his uneasy thoughts and whip them away to the awful places from whence they came.  

As he stood, Aragorn felt rather than saw Legolas stand beside him. When he looked the elf was peering into the darkness, seeing a great deal more than him, no doubt. Legolas did not say a word, but Aragorn knew that there was something amiss. The elf was worried about Nephryn of course, for it had never been envisaged that she would have to make such journey, but there was something else, more profound, more significant that plagued the elf. 

"What bothers you my friend?" 

Aragorn turned to the elf, giving him his full attention. Legolas frowned, as he considered how to put into words the fears that dwelt heavily on his mind. When he finally met Aragorn's gaze, the man could see that the flicker of energy that burned enduringly in his eyes was masked by the fear and worry. 

"I must confess that I have pondered deeply the significance of the Mark of the Vessel, and it aches my heart to think that Nephryn should have to face such evil again, but what is to become of us now that she has been separated from Frodo. Surely we have failed in our task??"

Aragorn sighed and held up his hand, signalling that Legolas desist. 

"I do not profess to know how it was intended that Nephryn be involved in the destruction of the Ring. Such knowledge lies entombed now in the fiery depths of Moria with Mithrandir. But I cannot go back now, not for any reason. If you wish to depart with Nephryn, I would not wish to stop you, but I will not accompany you."

Legolas sighed audibly at this, frustrated that his long time friend believed that Legolas would desert the fellowship. 

"That is not what I mean!" the elf uttered, forcing himself to mitigate his tone. 

"What worries me is that perhaps we should continue onto Mordor. I am the very last person to wish harm of her. She holds my heart and soul, but if the prophecies will it that she be at Mordor, then who are we to judge otherwise?" 

Aragorn felt the heavy weight of leadership manifest itself bluntly in the elf's question, for he too had considered this. 

"I do not believe that she has to be at Mordor. Her place may be on the battlefield, or it may be at Minas Tirith, or it may be at Mordor. I do not know. What I believe is that events have occurred as they have for reasons, which we may not yet understand. I also believe that we are stronger a one group of four than two of two. Will you trust my judgment?"

Legolas nodded mutely, for he knew that there were no easy answers to the uncertainty that dogged every leg of their journey. The elf placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder and then left the man to be alone again with his thoughts. Legolas would not push any more for answers because none would be forthcoming, and so his questions would serve only to underscore the ambiguity of their purpose. 

As he returned to their now much smaller camp, he saw that Gimli had fallen fast asleep. The short dwarf lay flat on his back, his pack under his head, his cloak wrapped around his portly middle and the hilt of his walking-axe firmly grasped at his side. Nephryn sat cross-legged on her cloak. She nibbled idly on a small wafer of _lembas_, while she massaged her aching neck with one hand. There was no fire lighting because they were close enough to the open plains that it would be easily discernible by friend and foe alike. 

The night air had cooled significantly, so much so that even Legolas pulled out his old cloak from his pack and drew it around himself as he sat down next to Nephryn. He pulled out the small flagon of water and sipped at it before handing it to Nephryn. She took one sip but grimaced as the icy liquid hit her exerted system. She handed the flask back to Legolas, but he refused and pushed it back into her grasp.

"You must drink. Even if you do not feel thirsty, we have run long and hard today and you cannot continue at such a pace if you ignore your body's most basic needs." 

"I cannot drink it when it is so cold. It will cramp my stomach. I promise I will drink more tomorrow." 

Legolas squinted at her in the dim moonlight. The silver glow made her features appear paler and shadows fell harsh across her face, sinking her cheeks and eyes. 

"Are you well," he asked quietly, not wishing to make her feel uncomfortable. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. 

"I am simply tired," she murmured in reply, shrugging her shoulders of his grasp, unwilling to be the subject of his scrutiny. She pulled her pack over to her and pulled out a small satchel. Small fists delved into it and rummaged about. Finally, she withdrew a small pot. When she removed the cap, the smell of Athelas hit him. 

Stretching out her legs, she began to unlace one light leather boot. When she'd removed it, Legolas could see that her leg was heavily bruised; the area was swollen and reddened. Wordlessly she began to smooth the salve over it, rubbing it into the skin vigorously, as much to warm her frozen fingers as to allay the throbbing pain that had set in earlier in the day. 

When the elf-maid was satisfied that as much had been done as was feasible, she pulled the boot back on and laced it loosely. Then she replaced the pot and satchel and threw the pack behind her. With an audible sigh, she collapsed back onto it, using it to pillow her head. Legolas leaned over her and drew her cloak tightly around her. He lay down next to her and propped himself up on his uninjured arm. Gingerly he reached across to touch her face. His wounded arm still ached and he was not yet recovered enough to wield his knife with any dexterity, but at the very lest, he'd regained some mobility. 

They lay there together like that for what seemed to be an eternity. Legolas traced the contours of her face, though his frozen fingers could not feel her cool soft skin. Their breaths clouded lightly, hovering icily over their faces. He smiled fondly as he watched Nephryn fight vainly to keep her eyes from falling shut, but despite the cold and hunger and pain, she quickly fell into an exhausted slumber. He lay down next to her and moved her head onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm around her bare neck. 

Aragorn returned to the camp, but did not sleep. He was occupied with worries that clung to him now like a second skin. He kept watch until dawn broke over the plains. Had he been alone, he would have departed with the dawn, if he even stopped to rest at all. But he was not yet alone. While Nephryn had been his primary concern, Aragorn could see that Gimli needed to rest and Legolas, still weakened by his injury would travel better today for having rested, even if the respite was brief.

Sorry about the very very long wait. What can I say? My life is as unbelievably chaotic as it has been for the last year, exams or not.  Gotta say this growing up and holding a steady job really sucks. Gimme a band of mouldy angry Orcs any day. 

Also, in my relentless plugging of my new story, Teryn chap 7 is now up…


	24. Chapter 24

Ladies and gents, my return from exile is complete and Unbind is back on track. I do not deny that seeing The Two Towers SEVEN TIMES helped to get the literary juices flowing, not to mention the confusion (hello, what happened to Erkenband et al???) but as always, Legolas and Aragorn were superb and Gollem (bless…) holds a special house. But I digress, on with the new chapter. Needless to say, I demand reviews, be they nice or nasty. To quote my current fave musical master: ROCK ON!!!!!!! 

For three days more, the four ran on. To the observer, it might seem that they did so tirelessly, but a bone-deep fatigue weighed their every step. In the twilight hours of the second morning of their journey, they came upon the hewn corpses of a band of Orcs. There was naught to suggest that the carnage was related in any way to the group pursued by the fellowship, and so they moved on quickly, unwilling to wait for the sunrise that might resolve the mystery. 

In the afternoon of the third day, they finally came upon the token that would allay the worry that the hobbits were not on the trail they had followed thus far. Aragorn had run ahead of the others, setting pace just quick enough that any clue on the strewn ground would be visible to his sharp eye. In the glare of the midday sun, the sudden break in the near constant trail of destruction left by the Orcs was inimitable. Aragorn pulled up short and held up one hand, indicating that the rest stay back. He bent low over the battered foliage. Clearly, something had forced the fell band off their hitherto undeviating path. The prints in the ground were lighter; the ground not quite so battered by what had strode upon it. 

"Hobbits have treaded here! Judging from the size, I'd say it was Pippen, who broke the trail" Aragorn muttered, almost to himself than to anyone else. By why, he mused, would the hobbit break from the path? Clearly, escape was not an option, he thought as he surveyed the unprotected plains that stretched for leagues in every direction. He was about to relent to yet another mystery when a tiny glimmer of metal broke through the tall grasses and caught his darting eyes. 

He bent down and searched through the damp, muddy ground until his fingers met with a small sharp object. He picked it up and broke away the earth that had caked it. By now Legolas and Gimli stood next to him, and as the Ranger held up the tiny object, their faces brightened as they realised their find. 

"The brooch of an elven-cloak!" they exclaimed in unison. 

"Indeed," Aragorn cried in triumph. "At the very least, we know that we are not following an empty trail and that the halflings have use of their wits and their legs." 

"Come!" he cried, his energy instantly replenished that at last they had some sense of purpose. Without further pause, the four departed wordlessly, the swift legs impelled by the thought that every second they delayed, was another second the brave hobbits spent in the ruthless custody of the Orcs.

The sun descended into an amethyst horizon at the end of the third day. They had travelled more than thirty leagues in three days journeying. After a short discussion, it was decided that they would rest that night. All knew that the band of Orcs would not stop: they had not rested so far, not even in the day, so why now would they cease at night. But the break was necessary because, except for the four short hours they had rested on the second night, none of the four had slept since the death of Boromir. 

Six hours the sun had sat in the sky when Legolas woke them, exclaiming loudly at the blood red sunrise that marred the lilac-grey horizon. When they departed once more, none spoke for the prospect of yet another day of crushing toil robbed them of any desire to speak. When the stopped once more on the fourth night, Aragorn felt as though he and his companions were travelling on four distinct plains for there had been little or no words among them at all that day. 

He'd watched as Legolas grew increasingly worried and stayed close always to Nephryn, for if she'd uttered even three words that day it was as much. She pushed hard to keep the fast pace and did not complain once, though the way she favoured one leg slightly was not lost to Aragorn. When she ran, she stared straight ahead, as though she could pull herself closer to ever-elusive destination through sheer force of sight. She ate almost nothing and Legolas had had to insist on several occasions that she stop and take water. 

Now as the sun sank low on the cloudy dips and peaks of the distant mountains, Nephryn ran ahead of him, her long braid whipping out behind her. She kept one hand firmly on the hilt of her longknife, which now rested at her hip since she'd given her dagger to Sam. They were nearing close to a small copse at the foot of stony hills that broke the lie of the plain. They would rest there. 

Once they'd arrived, Gimli and Legolas checked the outlying areas and returned with news that their small haven was deserted. At this, the elf-maid half-sat, half-collapsed to the ground. Legolas darted over to her, easing her down to the ground. Gimli stared for a moment; concern etched clearly on his gruff features and then looked away. 

"I'm sorry," Nephryn mumbled as she succumbed to the elf-prince's reassuring grasp. 

Legolas said nothing as he lowered her to the ground, one hand firmly around her small waist, the other gripping her hand. He watched as her eyes glazed over and her head lolled against his arm. 

"I feel dizzy," she whispered feebly. Her words were slurred and panic rippling over her features as she clutched his hand tighter. A film of cold sweat gleamed on her features in the eventide, her chest rising and falling as she gasped for breath. This was the product, the elf knew of a journey too long and too gruelling for her, perhaps even for all of them, though he was astounded that she'd fought it for so long. Maybe if this had happened sooner, she might not be in such a ruinous state. 

"Ssshhh!" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as he cradled her gently, pulling his hand from her vice-like grip to push away stray hairs that clung wetly to her face. Wordlessly, Aragorn thrust his canteen of water into Legolas's free hand and the elf tilted the flask to her mouth. Clear liquid flowed freely over her mouth and down her throat. She gasped at the sensation and gulped the water eagerly. 

Aragorn watched as her shaking hands reached forward to steady the flask. When she'd had enough, she blindly pushed the liquid away and turned her face into Legolas's chest, inhaling deeply to steady and slow her laboured breath. Aragorn relaxed as he watched calm descend over her frame. He'd known, just as the others had, that she had been pushing herself very hard, but they did not say anything. They could not afford to slow and they all knew that she would perceive any rest for her benefit as a sign of weakness.

Legolas looked up at him then, fear and frustration burning behind his icy eyes. There was silent question in his eyes and he looked to be in need of reassurance himself.

"She will be fine, my friend," Aragorn reassured softly as he settled down, sitting on his cloak. 

In that instance, the elf-maid's eyes opened, and for the first time in almost three days, Legolas saw that there was some measure of clarity and lucidity behind the emerald orbs. He smiled down at her and embraced her tighter.

They spent a long night there. It was safe, and most likely the most secure place they would rest for a long while to come. The sun was high in the sky when Legolas rose the next morning. He'd taken the first watch, for Nephryn had slept immediately. Then, after three exhausted hours Gimli awoke and relieved him. It was unusual for the elf, but he slept right through the night, completely unaware of his surroundings. He sat up now, his back and legs aching dully from the long journey yesterday and the hard, rough ground where they'd made camp. As he looked around, he saw that both Gimli and Aragorn slept across from him. The sky was cloudless blue, mingling in the east with the golden sunlight that split the heavens.  He looked instinctively to his left, where Nephryn had rested but her bedroll was empty. Her supplies were packed neatly. Her longknife rested, sheathed on the ground next to him, its hilt set next to his left hand. No doubt she'd left it in easy reach, lest they might need weapons in a hurry. The only question that remained was where the elf herself was. 

As though she'd heard his thoughts, he saw Nephryn edge down the slope to the foot of the crest where they'd camped. She did not look up as she descended. She'd braided her hair again, and coiled it at the back of her head. She'd changed into a fresh tunic and Legolas could see no trace of the limp that had plagued her so doggedly for the past four days.  

When she finally hit the flat, she looked over to the camp and Legolas could see that she was not quite as recovered as he first thought. A seeming permanent weariness drew her face still and dark circles ringed her bright eyes. But the smile that cracked her pallid face was artless and it warmed him to the core to see that she was not beaten. 

As she walked over to him, he moved to stand and inadvertently put his weight on his injured arm. He hissed loudly and fell in a graceless heap. Nephryn's smile faded and she hurried over to him. She crouched down next to him and unceremoniously pulled up the sleeve that covered the wound, inspecting it thoroughly before she exhaled in relief. The wound had not reopened, as it had done so too many times since they started out. 

Legolas looked up at her, and drew her face to his with his uninjured arm. She leaned in willingly, capturing his lips with her own soft kisses. 

"Thank you for last night," she whispered between kisses. 

Legolas drew back at this, holding her at arms length as he spoke, "I am only sorry that you allowed it to become so bad. You should have asked to stop, or at least rested more regularly."

Nephryn dropped her gaze at this, knowing well that she ought to have something. She did not say anything, for she wanted to accept fully that she'd been at fault. Her heart lifted when Legolas leaned in to kiss her once, his unspoken clemency far more soothing than any words. 

She helped him to stand and they moved to awaken the others. When Aragorn woke, he thanked Nephryn with a silent nod, for she'd arisen four hours before, insisting that she was recovered sufficiently to take the last watch. He'd regarded her warily for several minutes, but then he himself had succumbed to the clutches of sleep that he'd thwarted for the last four days. 

Though the rest was not nearly enough to replenish the sapped group, it was enough to put the wind beneath their feet once more and they set off, the early spring sun casting their shadows long across the expansive plains.

Well?? More? 

Namárië…


	25. Riders of Rohan

Okay, L&G I gotta say that in my strident efforts to be precise (in my writing, if not in my fact, but hey in my defence; there's so much work involved in studying the world of Tolkien, a crowd in the UK made a _degree out of it - but alas yet again I digress) to repeat: in my strident efforts to be precise, I have come across a couple of peculiar points that have stumped me:_

1 Do elves sweat and smell? If not, why the hell not??? Immortal, I get; but above perspiration, I think not!!

2 If they do, do they bring a whole wardrobe (invisible to all but elven eyes) of clean clothes cos its not like they wash at any point in their marathon journey… I'm thinkin odourus muchus, eh??

3 Where does Legolas gets all his freakin arrows from - theory: since he don't need so much sleep, while the rest of them snooze, Legolas slips off, fells some trees, cuts the wood down to size and hunts him a peacock for its tail feathers. And yet, as wonderful as this theory is, somehow, I just can't see it happening. May be Leggies has a Mary Poppins carpet quiver….

4 Why in Elbereth's name does he carry long knives? I mean c'mon, lets just do daggers (short and sweet) or else go the whole hog and give him a man's (or in this case, long-standing-aged elf) weapon like a full size sword. What's with the half measures??

Many have commented on my capacity to overthink things, but I swear it is with the noblest of intentions that I ponder these things…

Anyway, to get back to the story… 

Gimli felt refreshed by the five hours of sleep they'd had that night, though his back had protested at the rough ground and his head pounded for the want of more rest. They'd run now for nearly four hours, out across the plains of Rohan. A breeze had picked up from the west, and it carried on the air the tangy salty freshness of the Western Seas. It whipped past the now, its roar in their ears drowning out the silent worries. The trail had not disappeared but they'd yet to find anymore trace that their stray hobbits were still being held by the Orcs or that they were even alive. 

Though he felt physically more able for the chase, Gimli's resolve had waned more with every hour they proceeded on a seeming directionless path. He was drawn from his solemn thoughts by Aragorn's loud cry.

"Riders!" he yelled, "Many riders on swift steeds are coming towards us." 

He squinted in the bright light but could make out no more than a blur. His observation that it was a band of riders was based on the muted thump of many horse hooves. Beside him, Legolas halted and shaded his eyes with a long slender hand as he examined the speeding cluster. Nephryn stood tall beside him and Gimli saw her small fist tighten over the hilt of her longknife. 

"Yes," the elf murmured, "there are one hundred and five. Yellow is their hair and bright are their spears. Their leader is very tall." Legolas squinted but could make out no more detail. He turned to Nephryn to see if she could discern more than he, but she also shook her head. 

"Keen are the eyes of the elves!" Aragorn praised, a small smile on his face. But Legolas did not smile. He shook his head as he looked out on the plains again.

"Nay, my friend. My eyes judge well the detail because the group is close. Four and one half, perhaps five leagues by my reckoning." 

Aragorn's smile faded at that. He knew instantly that there would be no escape. The level plains offered no cover and the horses would catch them quickly anyway. Gimli voiced as much. 

"Five leagues or one," he muttered gruffly, "we cannot escape them in this bare land. Shall we await them or go on our way?" 

Aragorn considered this briefly. They were all weary and while the approaching band were unknown, there were too many to escape which or whether. If they were not foe, they might well be able to aid the fellowship in their increasingly difficult task. The four left the small hilltop, where they were easy targets and walked slowly down to the tall grasses of the flatter plains. There they huddled in wait near a small mass of stones for the nearing company.  

Soon the thunderous pound of a great many horse hooves filled the air and as it closed, they could hear shouting and yelling of the horsemen. As horse after horse swept past the group, oblivious to their presence, Aragorn recognised them. The Riders of Rohan often rode out in such numbers, most likely to hunt the creatures of Mordor that so often trampled the plains. The many riders had almost passed by when Aragorn stood and intoned loudly: "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?"

As quickly as the hundred steeds had rode past, they now doubled back with lightening speed, and within seconds, Aragorn and his companions were encircled by a ring off tall horses, their riders' swords drawn and trailed on the four. Nephryn and Legolas sat still behind the cluster of rocks, though they were now plainly in the view of the circling horsemen. Gimli stood, feet parted, axe drawn and ready.

Without warning, the riders halted and one horse broke the circle and approached Aragorn. As he drew closer, he too drew his broadsword and pointed it at the man's chest. 

"Who are you, and what are you doing in this land?" The stranger spoke the Common Tongue, his voice deep and resounding. Nephryn could see that even in the saddle, he was tall. His hair was the colour of burnished gold, and it flowed from under his helm unbound to his shoulder blades. Though she could not see his face, his piercing brown eyes caught hers, even as he bore down on Aragorn. Gimli smiled approvingly as Aragorn did not budge. He stared up at the man who wielded the broadsword and spoke calmly.

"I am called Strider. I come out of the North. I am hunting Orcs. We mean no ill will to the peoples of Rohan." The stranger seemed to consider this for a moment before he leapt from his horse gracefully. As he stood, he sheathed his sword. He stood taller than Nephryn would have imagined, taller than Aragorn, perhaps even taller than Legolas, and certainly of bigger build. He pulled off his helm with a flourish and Nephryn could see that it was a man, fair of face, with the same open manner as Boromir of Gondor. 

"At first I thought you yourselves were Orcs," he squinted as he studied Aragorn suspiciously, "but now I see it is not so. Strider is a strange name for a man, and strange is the way you would hunt Orcs. Are you elves?" 

Aragorn shook his head as he spoke, "I am not, but these two are elves of Mirkwood and Lothlorién." He gestured to Nephryn and Legolas, who stood but kept their hoods drawn over their heads. It seemed that the stranger was unconvinced. With a nod of his head, two of his company drew the hoods back with a sweep of their blades. The sharp metal grazed Nephryn's cheek, breaking the skin, drawing a thin line of blood. She flinched as it did and her quick movement startled the group, for they advanced on her until the tips of a dozen bladed hovered in a circle around her head. 

The leader saw instantly that the pair were of elven descent, and that the elf they'd pounced on was a girl-elf. 

"Fall back!" he yelled. Legolas's eyes darted around menacingly as he fingered his dagger. Intuitively, he stood back-to-back with the elf-maid, forcing back some of the drawn blades. As their leader spoke, the swords were pulled back to a less threatening distance.

"Where have you come from?" The leader asked Aragorn. 

"We have come from the wood of the Lady Galadriél, though each of us has travelled from different corners of Middle Earth." 

The stranger looked at Aragorn with even more wonder now, but also a greater measure of wariness. 

"Then there is a Lady of the Golden Wood as the old tales tell! Few escape her nets, they say. Perhaps you are among her cohorts, net-weavers and sorcerers?"

Gimli, who'd been silent up to then, bristled visibly at his words. Nephryn could see the heated anger on his face, much as she'd reacted when Boromir had uttered similar words at Imladris. She wanted to reach out to calm the dwarf, but new that if she made any more sudden movement, she might well find herself impaled on the blade of one brash warrior. 

The leader noticed the dwarf's reaction and turned to him, his keen eyes scrutinising Gimli. 

"And you, why do you not speak?" he queried quietly.

"Give me your name, horse master, and I will give you mine!" The dwarf spoke from hooded eyes, angered by both his comments about the glorious Lady of the Wood and his treatment of Legolas and Nephryn. 

The leader circled him menacingly then, leaning over the dwarf, who in turn raised his axe defiantly. 

"As for that, as a stranger you ought to declare yourself first, but no matter. I am Éomer, son of Éomund, and Third Marshal of Riddermark. We travel from Edoras, city of the Rohirrim."  

At this, Gimli looked Éomer in the eye and replied warningly: "I am Gimli, Son of Glóin, and you should be warned against such hasty remarks against the fair Lady of the Wood. Clearly you know not of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only wit can excuse you." 

Éomer's nostrils flared visibly and he exhaled, his eyes blazing. His men murmured angrily and began to close in. 

"I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little taller," the horseman cautioned loudly. 

Before Nephryn could stop him, Legolas stepped forward, his bow drawn and arrow set faster than the eye could follow. 

"He stands not alone," the elf shouted, startling Éomer, "You would die before the stroke fell." 

Suddenly enraged, Éomer raised his sword.

"_Ai letr is anar yanae…" Nephryn began to chant. ­__As it is cast in the annals of old…_

As he let it fall, in the same instant, Legolas let loose the arrow. 

"…_sí man é, yúlma ortanmë…" her words lost to all but her in the furore. __Give me this, my rightful power…_

Aragorn screamed warning too late and Gimli raised his axe to defend himself. 

"_Sí vanwë ná, Elentári!" __Elentári, I invoke thee!_

Eyes wide with fear, she stepped into the path of the falling blade and raised one hand in supplication. 

The blade stood but a hair's breadth from her head as the last word was formed. As the word left her lips, her eyes grew pale as the faintest glow emanated from within them: the sword and arrow were halted and wrenched from their fatal paths by a powerful unseen force. Legolas and Éomer were thrown back, both landing on the ground. Gimli's axe found only empty air where Éomer once stood. 

Aragorn stared on as the hovering weapons floated to the ground as Nephryn dropped her hand. The elf-maid stared back at him, though her eyes were glazed over. After a moment, she dropped her hand and at once, the sword and arrow clattered to the ground. 

Nephryn barely heard the murmurs of 'Witch!' that rippled through the crowd of horsemen. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli stared at her, amazed. Éomer had on his face a peculiar mix of fear and gratitude and he frowned warily as he stood, dusting himself off. 

"What dark art is this?" The shaken horseman wandered, shaken by the close encounter. Nephryn stepped forward and eyed him warily, cold steel reflected in her features. 

"The dark art that saved you from a swift death. Brash words lead to brash actions. What reason do you have to mistrust us so?" She asked, her tone low and foreboding, as an eerie courage came over her.

"All strangers in this land must first go by the lord of the Rohirrim, Théoden King!" Éomer protested, though it was a peculiar sight to behold such a warrior defensive against a slighter girl-elf, half his size. All around, his men eyed Nephryn warily, for she was now one to be feared; she fought with weapons, invisible to the eye and deadlier than any wielded by them. 

"Peace, Éomer!!" Aragorn cried, drawn out of his silence by the unsettled whispers in the crowd of men around them. He held out his hand for the horseman to see that his words were genuine. He came closer and spoke in low tones.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Legolas and Nephryn the elves, and Gimli the dwarf join me in my journey. We have no quarrel with you, but we are in haste. I cannot tell you of our journey lest you answer me this: are you allied with the great evil that rises in the east?" 

"We are neither allies of Mordor, nor are we at open war. Rohan merely wishes to continue as it is now at peace and in prosperity." Éomer replied, surprised by the question. "We did slay a foul crew of Orcs back north, but only because they trespassed our land." 

At this, all of the company's attention was roused, and it was Legolas that voiced the fear that had erupted in their minds. "Did you encounter halflings in the slain crew of Orcs?" the elf cried, fear plainly cast on his features. 

"Nay, there were none among them but their own fell kind. I dare say I know not what a halfling is, but I know what it is not; it is not an Orc, and Orcs blood alone stained our swords." 

The entire company breathed a unison sigh of relief. Then Aragorn stepped forward again, this time though his temperament was softer, more appeasing. "I must ask favour of you now sir: I will ask for leave of your horses, you have three to spare." 

His head was bowed at the request. Éomer's eyes widened at the request, and for a moment, he seemed dumbstruck by the audacity of the appeal. 

"You would ask that I give you our horses, when already you break our laws, by intruding on our land. What reason do I have to give you the horses, and even to trust that you would come to our great city to seek leave of the King! If I were to allow you this, such a liberty taken by myself is severely punishable by my superiors!" 

Aragorn sighed at this. He could think of nothing to offer the man, but if they were to have any chance of rescuing the hobbits, they would need the horses, and yet he could not and would not take them by force. 

"All I can offer is my word, for as much as that is worth." The Ranger winced inwardly for even to his own ears, the offering seemed inadequate: he could not expect Éomer to take the word of a stranger in such treacherous times, anymore than he could accept such an offer. As he expected, the horseman began to shake his head at the offer.

"Take me…" 

Nephryn stepped forward, appearing once more as the quiet demure elf-maid. Éomer and Aragorn stared at her, shocked and confused by the offer. 

"What do you propose?" Éomer murmured curiosity lacing his voice. Truly, this elf amazed him!

"The word of an honourable man is not enough for you. If you would loan the horses to Aragorn, I will accompany you back to you King. I will seek the consent you speak of on their behalf. I shall await there until they return with your horses. Then we shall be on our way." Though her voice was soft and measured, Nephryn felt fear rage within her.

"No!!" The loud protest came from both Legolas and Gimli, who now stood behind Nephryn. There was a pleading in the elf's eyes that she'd never seen before.

"I would sooner walk than sit on the back of the back of any beast so great, free or begrudged." Nephryn smiled lightly at the dwarf's gruff refusal, knowing well that it was as much for her benefit as for his own. But Legolas seemed determined and as she looked to him, the resolution burned bright as any anger behind his liquid eyes. _By the Valar but he was stubborn!_

"Consider Legolas!" She chided him gently. The request that the he keep their private affairs out of such decisions went unsaid but for the heated gaze that sparked between them.

"It is the most sensible solution: I will only slow you further, for though I am strong no one foresaw that such a chase would be necessary. You will have the horses and will a better chance of finding our stray charges. I will be safe at Edoras until you return. Éomer will have assurance that you will return, for he can see that, though you are a stranger, you would never abandon one of your own." 

Nephryn spoke with a confidence and flippancy that she did not feel, but it was necessary, as much to convince Legolas as Éomer. Aragorn met her gaze squarely, and she could see that there was a pride and approval glowing in his eyes. Legolas walked over to her and bent his lips to her ear as he whispered: "I would speak with you."

"Nay," Nephryn replied, for if she listened to his pleas, her resolve would break because she was afraid. "I will not change my mind. If this is acceptable to Éomer, then I will go with them." 

But the firm words were not enough to stay the words that had hovered on Legolas's lips. 

"They are strangers! Just as they cannot trust us, we know naught of their honour!!" For a moment, Nephryn was speechless, for she could not refute this. It was Aragorn that intervened.

"Do not speak ill of the honour of the men of Rohan. They have long proved their honour. Let this be settled: are you agreeable to the terms set forth, we shall take the horses and return with due haste and for our absence, you shall keep safe our comrade and friend, Nephryn of Lothlorién. Is this acceptable? Choose now and let us be done!" 

Éomer did not hesitate, and nodded his agreement. He raised his hand to a fellow soldier and ordered that the spare horses be brought to the fore. As they were, the circle of guards withdrew, apparently satisfied that the four were no longer a threat. 

As Aragorn readied the horses and spoke in low tones with Éomer, Legolas took Nephryn by the arm and led to away from the group. 

"Why would you do this?" he whispered fiercely, trying to sound angry but succeeding only in sounding frightened. At another time, Nephryn would have been angered by his tone, but she knew well that it was a product of the fear they both felt. 

"Legolas," she uttered quietly, reaching up to caress his cheek, "You know as I do that this is the best solution. I cannot keep the pace and you cannot afford to ease it. I will be safe at Edoras. I can protect myself." 

Legolas refused to meet her gaze, and he bowed his head into her touch. He shook his head defiantly, refusing to be appeased by her words. But she refused to allow that they would part on bad terms. Their time together was too rare and precious to be wasted so! She tilted his chin forcefully; such that he could see the tears that glittered unshed in her eyes.

"Please," she entreated passionately, "I cannot part with you like this. I am scared! Give me the strength of your blessing!" 

Try as he might, Legolas could not deny her, though it was against all his instinct to let her go. He cupped her face with both hands, tracing his thumb along the newest cut along her cheek. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then to her lips. They lingered together for what seemed like an eternity, each lost in the touch of the other. When at last they drew apart, Nephryn's tears had vanished. Such was the strength of their bond that it dissipated the fear. 

"Remember what you told me, the very day we met? Today is the tomorrow you feared yesterday, and still all is well. You are the sun in my life. However far you are, your light will bridge the divide between us. All will be well, for I shall see you upon your arrival at the Courts of Rohan." She whispered the words in his ear, her voice dying as fear choked her.

She spoke no more, and turned back to the group, who now stood waiting, their gaze discreetly averted. She walked back to Aragorn. She leaned in and whispered in his ear: "Do not fear if you cannot return. I can fend for myself. Do what is necessary!" 

Though Aragorn nodded, there was no conviction in his eyes, and he hoped the elf-maid would see that. 

Then, as agreed, Aragorn took one horse, Hasufel, and Legolas took another, Arod. Gimli conceded and agreed to ride with Legolas. Without further words the three departed. 

Nephryn stood watching their swift progress until they were little more than faint specks on the long horizon. She was alone now.


	26. Chapter 26

More…I swear. My stupid life just keeps getting in the way…

Haven't spell-checked this so I apologise if the grammar and such are below par.

The horizon blurred and wavered in the well of tears that stung at her eyes. Already mere minutes after they'd left she felt their absence keenly. She felt bare, exposed without their hearty presence, as though some part of her had departed with them. A heavy hand landed on her, startling her and she bit back a yelp. 

She turned to see Éomer standing tall behind her. He regarded her with a steely gaze, as though trying to bore into her thoughts with his eyes. She bit her lip nervously, as she regarded him with the same wariness. 

"Can you ride?" He asked at length. He squinted at her, appraising her figure and stance. 

Nephryn felt naked under his scrutiny, and inwardly squirmed. She tilted her head up at him defiantly and moved closer to him, for no other reason than to break his almost leering stare. 

"I can. I have no need for a saddle, and I am a skilled warrior." The indignation that she felt laced her voice and she struggled to keep a level tone. There was no need to worsen an already difficult situation. She saw him smirk sardonically at her claims. They were met but minutes and already she felt like she had to prove her worth and skill to him. But before she had a chance speak, a louder boorish voice sounded behind the horseman and he turned away from Nephryn. 

He walked over to his comrade and they spoke in hushed tones for a moment. As he stood away from her, she could see that, judging by scars alone that the man was an experienced, weathered warrior. He wore over a royal blue tunic, a silver corselet and heavily stained mail, but wore no armour from his waist down, only heavy leathered breeches and worn camel-brown boots. Though his hair was long and flowing, it was braided away from his face. He bore a long scar that had cut deep near his right eye and snaked back over his temple. On a long ornate baldric, he carried a broadsword, as it seemed did all the warriors she could see. His horse was heavily saddled and well protected from the elements. A long silver shield was secured to the tall mare's flank, and it was emblazoned with the emblem of a golden sun, set against a rich green tapestry of images. 

She did not realise that she was in fact staring until Éomer turned back to her, and she dropped her head immediately, hiding a blush that flourished on her cheeks. 

"I'm afraid," the man spoke as he rejoined her, "that the majority of this company will proceed on to our original destination. I, myself and four of my men shall escort you to our city. Is this acceptable?" 

Though she did not react outwardly, inwardly she was relieved; for a moment she'd thought perhaps they might renege on their agreement. She merely nodded, not trusting her own voice just yet. Éomer began to walk away and gestured that she should follow. He led her to a tall fawn mare. The great creature stood easily at nineteen hands and was covered like the rest in heavy armour and coarse wool. Éomer began to remove each layer of armour and hand them to Nephryn. As the layers fell away, the steed's magnificent pelt shone in the bright sunlight. Underneath her silken coat of polished sand, sleek tapered sinew rippled like liquid.  

When the horse's back was bare, Éomer stood back and took the armour from Nephryn. 

"Her name is Elune. She is a fine, gentle creature and she will bear you well." He smiled at her and for the first time, Nephryn saw not the hardened forced smile, but a genuine gesture. As he gazed at the mare, the elf could see that he clearly had an affinity for animals. He moved to walk away, but much to her chagrin, Nephryn called out to him.

"Éomer!" she called, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He turned to her, his eyebrows raised in question. She held out her hands, and he walked back to her. 

"I require assistance. I cannot mount this horse. I can barely reach her mane, and she might break away if I startle her." 

Éomer snorted softly at this, surveying her with his keen eyes. "I doubt that you could startle anything, but come!"  

_I startled you fairly well with my 'dark arts',_ she mused but held back the comment as the man strode to stand at her back.

Before she knew what was happening, the horseman stood behind her and grasped her waist firmly. He lifted her easily up and she swung one leg over the creature's broad back. The horse whinnied and tossed its head and Nephryn's hands grabbed for purchase at Elune's long mane. She felt quite discomfited, but truly she'd never been borne by such an enormous creature. A lesser man might have made a belittling comment, but Éomer merely regarded her with an expression of intrigue, before turning on his heel to mount his own white mare.

Minutes later, more than two hundred men had mounted up once more and were ready to depart once more. They moved with such fluidity and unity that was born of discipline and experience. There was no doubt in Nephryn's mind but that the Rohirrim were formidable warriors. Éomer spoke briefly again to the leader of the scouting party, and then gestured with a single nod that the company depart. The five score steeds rode off to the south in pairs, and as they filtered out onto the plains once more, they increased their pace until they were once more just a blur in the far distance. 

 Éomer shouted to her over the receding din, "We will depart now, Lady. All you must do is ask, and we will stop and rest." 

"That will not be necessary, sir. And I do not carry title: you may call me Nephryn." Without further warning, turned her horse south and she spurred her into a canter. She did not need to look back to know that the men of Rohan followed close behind, because the roar of horse hooves drowned out all the sounds, save the howl of the wind that swept across her face. As she rode, she allowed her mind to drift. The wind was cold and ground rough and uneven but thoughts of Legolas, with his arms wrapped around her, scattering kisses abundantly over her face, warmed her to the core and sustained her until the men called to her to stop. 

She was barely aware of how long they'd ridden, but as she looked out dusk was settling over the plains to her right. She was not tired, and she could easily travel through the night, for this was a great deal easier than running on foot. She squeezed Elune's flanks with her legs and tugged lightly on her mane, and the mare ease to a light trot. She drew to a halt, and Éomer and his three companions halted beside her. 

"Do you require respite?" Éomer asked, slightly breathless. She could see that they were tired, and perhaps they were in need of rest, but she could continue on, and refused to be the one to halt their progress. ­_If they wanted to rest, they would have to call for it themselves_. 

"Nay, I can continue. Do you wish to stop?" she replied, feigned innocence in her voice. She could see well that at least one wanted badly for water and sleep. 

Éomer's smooth brow furrowed at this, for this was not the answer he was expecting. But while Éomer was a proud man, he was not foolhardy, and he could see that regardless of whether she needed rest, his men did and they would be the better for a few hours of sleep. 

"We will stop," he muttered, refusing to meet her gaze. He led them to a small mound of stones. That would be as much protection as they were likely to find in the plains. As soon as they stopped, two of the group gathered some dry kindling for a fire, and Éomer pulled a large satchel from his saddle. Nephryn dismounted easily enough, but the drop to the ground was forceful enough that she felt no small twinge from her sore ankle. Before going to sit, she detached her longknife from her belt and secured it in her pack. 

When she settled down next to the small, smouldering fire, she saw that Éomer and his companions were munching silently of crisp apples and nuts. The food was scattered on the ground in front of them and they picked idly at it. Éomer picked up a ripened apple and held it out to her, but she held up her hand in polite refusal.

"You must eat something!" He stated firmly, pushing the fruit toward her. 

Nephryn smiled at his insistence. She was beginning to think that, like many she'd encountered before, this warrior was a gentle soul buried beneath armour and years of war.

"Thank you, but I have brought some of my own food. I would not trouble you for your supplies are limited." She rummaged in her pack and pulled out the elven whey-bread, which was wrapped in parchment. She unfolded it and held it out for Éomer to see. He leaned in and studied the small stack of wafers incredulously. 

"_That would not feed a bird!" he muttered in disbelief. _

Nephryn shook her head, the haughty assuming nature of men never ceasing to amaze. She did not make to correct Éomer. He would see the error of his judgement soon enough. She sat in silence, and to herself she admitted that she was glad to sit in the warmth of the fire. She broke of pieces of the _lembas and chewed slowly on them. One by one, each of the men dropped off to sleep. _

Éomer remained seated at her side. He watched as the slight elf-girl swallowed that last crumb of her strange bread and folded away the rest in her sack. 

"Surely that paltry amount cannot have satisfied your appetite. You are small, but I have seen smaller beings eat three times as much and still not be satisfied." Nephryn smiled at his protests. 

"Why do you presume that the food I have eaten is the ordinary nourishment of your people?"  

The horseman seemed caught for words then and merely shrugged his shoulders, a mild grin on his face. 

"You have made many assumptions about my kind, my companions and me. On what do you base these assumptions? I find it quite intriguing." Nephryn leaned forward as she spoke, and the man was caught by the glitter of emerald green is the elf-maid's eyes that was flecked with gold in the light of the glowing embers.

Éomer was speechless once more: he could not answer because he did not know. He'd always thought of elves as slight, weak beings, pacifists who passed a literal eternity in song or mellifluous speech. True enough, he'd assumed that elves were no different from his own kind in their basic ways: did they not eat the same food, require rest and sustenance, and fall in and out of love? Were they not immortal, peace-loving versions of mortal man? The way the captivating elf-maid looked at him now, it was as though she read these silent question from the open book that was his face. 

"We are not all we appear to be, we elves. How much do you know of us in truth, and how much of that is based of the tall tales of small-minded people?" 

The horseman's eyes widened at the elf's brazen accusations, and he might have been angered but for the fact that her accusations were well founded. He knew nothing of those immortal creatures save that told to him by fellow warriors around a campfire, having consumed copious amounts of ale. But he refused to be baited into receiving a lecture from one who seemed so much younger and more innocent than he. So they sat in silence. 

He expected that she might sleep, but she did not. She began to sift through the leathern quiver she carried, inspecting each feathered arrow for defect, mending what she could and discarding what she could not. It was the warrior in him that admired the longbow she carried. It was beautifully crafted. Wordlessly he picked it up. It was lighter than he expected, but still quite sturdy. 

"It is beautiful!" He murmured, holding it up to the light to better view it: the pale blond ash of the bow was embossed with gilded gold-leaf runes that snaked elegantly from the fretted silver nock along the frame to the filigreed-tipped points. 

"Indeed," Nephryn replied, not looking up from her task. "It has served me well for a long time, though on many occasions, I thought it lost or broken." It was true, he saw. The ornamentation had faded at the point directly below the nock, where she would grip it during use, and there were clear indentations on the nock itself where arrows had been set repeatedly. 

"How long have you had this?" He held the bow out to her. She took it from him, and stared at it, mesmerised by the way the dancing firelight caught the designs and reflected it on Éomer's face.

"Almost a century," she whispered. 

She was awash in memories; she'd been out tracking with this very piece when Sauron's foul party had first captured her. She'd thrown it into the grasses as a clue to her whereabouts. She felt sure that it was lost, until Galadriél returned it to her, three weeks after she'd returned to Lothlorién. So lost in thought was she, that she almost missed the gruff horseman sputter and choke at her answer. 

"A hundred years!!" Éomer replied, awe-struck. "Just how old are you?" 

At this, Nephryn's brow furrowed and she tilted her head defiantly. 

"We elves may be quite different, but among my people, it is still considered quite rude to ask a lady her age!!" 

It was very difficult to hold back a smile when she saw the man's face redden in embarrassment and humiliation. He bowed his head, and mumbled his apologies. For a moment, he did not look up and for that second, in her eyes he was but a child, eager and brash. So she could not but offer her pardon, though she too felt quite foolish for even needing to impart it. 

"You are forgiven," she murmured solemnly. She turned then to her pack and pulled out her spare cloak, which she spread on the ground. She lay down with her back to Éomer, smiling in anticipation of dreaming of her beloved, who was so far away from her. Just before she let her mind slip into to dreams, she muttered drowsily to the man behind her.

"Three thousand." 

"What was that?" The elf smiled at the bewilderment in the man's voice. 

"My age. I am three and one quarter thousand years old." She replied, before she slipped away to peaceful dreams, where she was warmed and comforted by the fair Legolas.


	27. Chapter 27

More reviews for me please

Nephryn's eyes flew open and shut again just as suddenly. She flinched as shafts of sunlight broke over the eastern horizon heralding the new day. Indeed, as she sat up, raising herself up on her elbows, she judged it to be four, perhaps even five hours after sunrise. That meant that she'd easily slept for six hours. She frowned at this, for it was not her way to sleep so long, and she'd had less exertion yesterday than for the past three weeks. 

Groaning softly as sore muscles in her back and legs pinched tight, the elf pulled herself upright, dusting away the dust and grasses that clung damply to her cloak. As she stood, she noticed to her surprise, that all four men slept. She was no expert, but it did seem rather careless that they would not divide out the watch duties. 

She crossed over to where Éomer lay curled up, his heavy coarse wool cloak drawn up over his cheeks. Gently, not wishing to startle him, she tapped him lightly on the shoulder. She was surprised when his eyes flew open at the instant her fingertips touched his body. They darted about, trying to ascertain his whereabouts, and then he turned and sat up. Silent question was set in his features. 

Nephryn did not speak but merely pointed to the morning sky with one finger, indicating that they should move on. The man understood instantly and nodded curtly. As he stood to wake his companions, Nephryn went over to her pack and began to fold up her belongings. She rolled up the pack and secured her quiver to it before she hoisted it onto her back. She grabbed her bow and walked over to where Elune stood, patiently waiting to depart once more. 

The horse whinnied and neighed at the sight of her new charge. Nephryn smiled fondly at the reaction and pulled out her flagon of water. She poured a small measure into her cupped palm and brought it to the horse's mouth. The great mare drank eagerly. It was nowhere near enough to sate her, but it would do for now. 

When she turned back to the men of Rohan, they stood ready and awake. They appeared to her to be quite regimented and efficient. Before she made to mount up, she removed her longknife from her pack and affixed it once more to the leather sash that tied her tunic. Without word to Éomer, she clutched the Elune's mane in order to lever herself onto the steed's back. She was more assured today that the creature would not bolt. Though it took no small amount of effort by already strained muscles she managed to clamber awkwardly onto the mare's back. 

They left at a gallop, and for three hours they travelled in the crisp spring air, and the young sun beat down on their weary limbs. They had less than two hours of journey remaining when thunder rumbled in the still cool air. It seemed that the conditions for such weather were not exactly ideal, but these were strange times, and quite often, the elf discovered that many things did not follow their natural course. And so it was this logic she clung bitterly to when the heavens opened. To stop and seek out shelter was futile. There was none in the vicinity and to search it out would only prolong their exposure. 

Nephryn not even pause to draw her spare cloak around her. As the downpour stung her face and beat heavily on her head and shoulders, she knew that it would make no difference. Éomer shouted over the rumble in the skies to increase their pace, and the horses galloped full tilt toward Edoras. The rain that sluiced down was an opaque curtain that all but blinded her as wall after wall of water hurtled past her

When the deluge finally eased, Nephryn pushed tendrils of sodden hair back from her equally soaked shoulders and face. The cool south winds picked up then and the sorry crew began to feel the effects of their misfortune as they drew near to Edoras. The biting winds cut through the layers of her clothing, and Nephryn could not suppress the rattle of her teeth as they galloped on. 

Sun broke in pools through the heavy purple clouds that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Nephryn could just make out the city of Edoras in the near distance. Rolling hills along the south marked the border of the plains of Rohan. Edoras lay in all its splendour along the crest of the hills. It was not large by her reckoning, and yet it had a regal presence. It was not built cowering, nestled in the foot of the hills. Instead, it was conceived such that it presided and watched over its lands.  

She heard the chorus of the men behind her. She turned back, only to see two of the horsemen race past her. One hoisted high a flag, extolled with the same emblem as on the shields. Éomer rode up next to her, and she was relieved to see that she was not alone in her suffering. The horse lord's lips were tinged with blue, and his grip on the reins was stiff. The rain had slicked back his hair and it hung over his shoulder, rivulets of water dripping down and gathering in the grooves of his armour. He held up his hand, indicating that she should slow down. 

"They will ride ahead to announce our presence. There have been too many incursions in our lands, and our border guards have been instructed to shoot first. We shall await here until they bring word that the eastern approach is safe." The horse lord informed her as he shielded his eyes. 

The sun finally broke through the gloom and the rest of the clouds dispelled quickly. The pair returned quickly with news that the there was a large pack of wolves in the eastern fields and that they could not signal the Marshal's arrival. Éomer scowled deeply as the news was relayed to him. 

"We shall have to take the western path." He muttered darkly. He nodded once to the returned pair and they departed once more, without so much as a word. Clearly this was something of a routine.

As they neared the foot of the steep hills, Nephryn watched as Éomer scanned the top of the steep hill. Moments later both spotted thick draughts of black smoke. The horseman said nothing, and Nephryn assumed that it was a signal that the pair had reached the top. As they began the arduous ascent, she could feel that the ground was slick beneath Elune's hooves. As the mare struggled upwards, Nephryn considered dismounting, but she realised that her weight was negligible and it was likely that her walking would only slow their progress further. Casting a quick glance behind, she could see that hers was not the only steed struggling. The two men who'd rode ahead had plundered the ground and now there was little more than rivers of saturated earth all around. The horses tossed their heads wildly as they sought leverage in the loose ground. There was little by was of root or grasses that might hold the sodden earth together, and with each step the heavy horses' hooves ploughed deeper into sludge.

Seeing the difficulties Éomer shouted something unintelligible to her ears, but apparently the horse lord's men understood. Soon they were travelling in a single line across the slope, each blazing their own trail. Éomer seemed to have taken the path with the least leverage, because his steed was snorting anxiously as she toiled to put each hoof in front of the other. Try as she might to concentrate on her own horse, Nephryn could see that Éomer was fighting a losing battle. 

"Éomer! You must discard some of your armour!!" She cried out. 

The man did not reply and did not seem to heed her warning for a moment, but then saw that the horse was slipping further each time it tried to move forward. With one hand still on the reins, he began to frantically pull at the clasps of the armour. His shoulder and chest plates fell away and clattered down the hill. For a moment, it seemed like the sudden drop in weight was enough to drive the horse up, but then she began to struggle again, more forcefully now. Her spindle legs scrambled but it was no use. 

"No!!" Nephryn cried out. She guided Elune toward the mare. When she was within reach, she held out her hand to Éomer. 

"Take my hand!" 

Éomer was still juggling the reins and trying to shed some of the weight. Nephryn watched as his mighty broadsword slipped away behind him, but still the horse struggled. 

"You must. It is the only way to save the horse and yourself." 

It seemed that that was the exact argument that broke his hesitation. He looked around him wildly and saw the true extent of his difficulties. The path ahead was no better than the one behind. He called out to Elune and the mare sidled closer to his own ailing steed. With a gasp, he leapt from his own horse and onto the Elune, in front of Nephryn. 

Elune clambered onward. Nephryn could see the summit now. Three of Éomer's men stood at the top, watching anxiously. But as close as they were, the hill got steeper before it flattened out. Elune wasn't going to make it alone. Nephryn began to chant softly. She could not use her hands, because she clung to Éomer in order to stay on the horse. The spell could not be completed properly without the use of her hands, and the strength infused in the horse was less than she hoped for.   

She shut her eyes. The safety of flat ground was painfully close but she heard Éomer urge Elune on and felt sure they would all fall to their deaths. Perhaps if there wasn't quite so much weight for the horse to bear…

But as soon as her grip on Éomer's waist slackened, he grabbed her hand with his. He'd understood her intentions immediately and would have none of it. 

At that moment, Éomer's men threw a length of rope to them. Éomer caught it and attached it to the reins. Within in minutes, all three were pulled to safety. Éomer jumped to the ground deftly and held out his arms to assist Nephryn. For once, she accepted his aid without hesitation, for she was truly glad to have solid ground beneath her feet. 

They walked in silence toward the gate, Éomer leading both Elune and his own steed, while Nephryn walked next to him. As they approached the guard, the horse lord leaned down and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head as he spoke softly in her ear. 

"Speak to no one until I have consulted with the King."

He did not look at her but at the guards, raising his arm in greeting. The guards bowed their heads solemnly in reply, casting curious glances at the hooded stranger. 

Once inside, the gates were shut quickly. Edoras was quite unlike anything she'd come across before. It was… peculiar. Rivendell was serene, glorious. Lothlorién was mystical, surreptitious. But Edoras was a both regal and stately, and yet homely and familiar.

On the steep slopes leading to the main courtyard, small thatched houses dotted the hillside, perched precariously and yet presiding over the splendour of the plains. Simple, unadorned constructs of wood and thatch. Wordlessly, he bid them follow into the expanse walled courtyard. Despite the relative singularity of colour, the scene was before them was lush. To one side, stables extended along one wall and disappeared around a corner. The stables themselves but half full still buzzed with life as carers tended to the great and infamous steeds of the Rohirrm. Some still donned armour and marquees, while others grazed lazily in the mid morning sun. Such quaint colloquialism was diminished though by the contrast on the opposite side. Long store rooms opened out onto the yard, but shining mail and helms glinted out from the darkness within. Houses were scattered in rough lines, forming impromptu streets, but above it all was Meduseld. That which was visible even from the plains now shone in opulent glory. The golden hall was not named so for no reason, for it was exactly that. The roof that sloped down toward the court was a symphony of gold and platinum, mingled with burnished orange of the unrefined electrum that was so common among the mined gold of Middle Earth. It bathed the small city in a soft amber glow. Set on ground stone foundations, the buttresses and doors of the steepled hall were festooned with sumptuous gold carvings. Windows of stained glass cast soft hues along the stone. The sight was breathtaking. It was the great hall of Meduseld that marked Edoras from other Rohirrim settlements. 

As they approached it, a woman appeared on the steps. Flowing white gown and strawberry blond hair whipped in the wind as she looked down. Éomer handed the reins to Nephryn as he broke away from the group and jogged toward the woman. Nephryn watched as he greeted her with a chaste hug. She spoke briefly, and though the words themselves were lost the roar of the winds, it was clear from Éomer's reaction that his absence had brought ill tidings. He bowed is head, pressing his hand to his heart. The woman swiped at unseen tears. He spoke only briefly to her before heading inside the hall. The woman descended slowly, taking time to compose herself before she came to greet them. 

"Please come with me," she commanded softly, avoiding Nephryn's eyes. Wordlessly, Nephryn handed the reins to the men who stood awaiting Éomer's return. 

Nephryn followed her inside an annex to the great hall. It led to the living quarters of the family of Théoden King. The women brought them into a bedroom and shut the door firmly. 

"I'm an Éowyn, sister to Éomer. I apologise for the way in which you are greeted, but an ill wind has befallen us this hour. I have just informed Éomer that our cousin and heir to the throne of Rohan, Théodred has died by the blade of Orcs." 

"I offer my condolence to you and your family. I am Nephryn of Lothlorién. I am merely here on behalf of my companions to seek permission to travel the lands of Rohan." 

"You are an elf. You will receive none." 

Nephryn frowned, the harsh reply unexpected. Surely Théoden was not on ill terms with elves?

"I was not aware of any discord among elves and the Horse Lord of the Rohirrm?"

"Nay, there is none," the woman replied as her eyes hardened in barely contained rage, "but alas it is the King's counsel and not the King, who deems what is and is not favourable, and there is discord between him and many that walk this earth." 

Nephryn said nothing, but instead removed her pack and sodden cloak and sat. There was nothing more to be said until such time as Éomer returned. At that moment, the door was thrown open and a seething Éomer stormed. Both elf and woman stared at him and he snarled in rage, hurtling his heavy helm at the nearest wall, where it clattered loudly to the floor. 

"Aaagh! Curse that fell worm to the very depths of hell!!"

"Éomer!" his sister rebuked loudly, shocked at his behaviour. 

"Do not censure me dear sister," he cried, jabbing his finger at her, "for short now is our time together. Gríma Wormtongue has banished me from my own home, upon pain of death!" 

Nephryn's stared up, his name ringing in her ears. 

It brought a flood of sensations prickling to life. Rarely did she ever remember details of her time at Orthanc. It was only sensations, feelings; they'd hit her repeatedly at first, across the face so that her vision was always inhibited, and so she recognised Gríma foremost by sound and smell. He'd smelt of rare meat, which he was particular to above all else, and his breathing was heavy, almost laboured as though the sight of her had aroused him, or as though he'd been trying to hold his breath. Those sensations still stuck fear in her heart and

that sly creature lived still in her nightmares. 

If indeed, he was here word of her whereabouts would reach the White Wizard swiftly. It would bring all of Isengard down on Edoras, and quite probably return her to her prison. Her breath caught sharp in her chest at that.

Éowyn was stunned into silence. She backed away from Éomer at first. Tears welled up as she grappled with this news. 

"He cannot banish you, he has no such power…"

"It was Théoden that banished me," the horse lord hissed as he paced in a agitated circle. "But I am quite certain that Wormtongue planted those seeds in his mind." 

"You cannot leave me here, Éomer. Not with him. And now that Théodred is…" Tears flowed freely then, as she collapsed into her brother's embrace. Broken sobs echoed in the silence. 

"You cannot go with me. It is dangerous, now more than ever. I will return, perhaps when his anger has cooled a little. Háma will remain. I will make quite certain that should that beast come within a league of you, he will pay with his life."

"You would leave me?" She stared up in abject despair.

"Were there another way, dear Éowyn, I would take it, but my presence here will lead to bloodshed. Not by my life will I allow that." He tightened his embrace, and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, whispering something even Nephryn could make out. He turned to leave, but Nephryn called him back. 

"I would speak with you." 

She led them into the hallway. She stood facing him, drawing herself to her full height. 

"I must leave Edoras. I cannot stay here."

"As with my sister, Háma will keep watch over you also. Wormtongue is a puppet to the wizard Saruman, nothing more. You are of no consequence to him." 

"Éomer," she sighed forcefully, "I mean no disrespect, but you know very little about Wormtongue, and less about me. I have crossed paths with him before to my detriment, and I mean not to again."

"I have not informed him of your presence. No one else will, for no one cares to have anything to do with him." 

"You do not understand. If Saruman finds out that I am here, he will bring all of Isengard down on this city. For the sake of your kingdom and me, give me a horse and let me leave." Her voice cracked as desperation crept in. 

"And what of my promise to Aragorn to keep you safe? I am hardly fulfilling my duty to him if I leave you to fend for yourself, alone on the plains. You are but a single elf. Better protected here within fortified walls than alone." 

Anger boiled over as the fear shot through her veins like ice. When she spoke again, it was through lump of terror that stagnated in her throat. 

"You know nothing of what I have endured at the hands of that creature," she spat, turning her flushed face away from him.

"And no one can protect me," she muttered in resignation. "Not even the one who has given his heart and offered his soul." Éomer stared at her, fear pinching his heart. Yet another ruthless element to Wormtongue revealed. Could he really be certain Éowyn would be safe? The choices before him were maddeningly inadequate. 

"I will not stay. Therefore you have but two choices: you set me loose with a steed and supplies, or you take me with _you_."

Pacing the breadth of the hallway in silence, he weighed the options carefully. 

"Before I make my decision, tell me this. Is my sister also in harms way, or is there some other reason for his treatment of you?"

"He has a particular interest in acquiring items I have in my possession. It is these, and these alone that he seeks - though that did not mitigate the force of his blows."

Éomer stared at her, realising in that instant that the fear that burdened her was heartfelt. He pitied her, longed to remove that pain, as he was sure many before him had tried and failed to do. 

"Very well. You will depart with my company. With leave with the fall of night." 

Efficiency on overdrive at the moment. Want more??


	28. Chapter 28

Legolas lay on his back. Through his cloak, tunic and underclothing, he could feel the dips and rolls of the damp, loamy ground grate painfully on his weary muscles. No matter how tight he pulled the folds of the cloak around him, the freezing gnarled wasps of air slithered through and forced back the comfort that might induce sleep. His eyes were open and his mind lay in that ghostly ambit that bridged his waking senses and his dreams. Even in such a state, the elf found that an embittered smile tweaked his frozen lips. Not three hours before, a peculiar figure had arrived at their camp. Though he had not said a word, nor given any clue as to his identity, his sudden appearance was enough of a distraction that none of the group had realised that the pair of Rohirrim steeds had bolted.

And so now they rested. They had not found the hobbits, they had lost the horses and they had surrendered perhaps their most valuable remaining charge to the clutches of those to whom they owed what they could now not pay. He missed Nephryn badly. In the last days and weeks, though they'd had many dangerous encounters and they had not always been on good terms, Legolas had become accustomed to having her under his watchful eye, and more than he cared to admit, he'd grown fond of the comfort he found in her presence, both physically and emotionally. 

Now, he knew naught of her well-being and he doubted that the discomfort that stood stoically between him and rest was entirely due freezing temperature. He recalled her last words to him. _Today is the tomorrow you feared yesterday, and still all is well._ He'd told her that in the first hours he'd met her. She'd been dazed and incoherent, cradled in front of him, as he rode faster than he'd ever done before. She'd called out in blind fear, barely able to grasp where she was as the pain of her wounds brought fevered nightmares to life. He'd intoned those words softly, repeating them like a mantra, as though they might keep at bay the fear and the clutches of death. They were words first spoken by his own mother, and they given him much solace in his life, and as he'd repeated them on that frenzied dash to Rivendell, it was as much for his own reassurance as it was for the semi-conscious elf maid. When Nephryn had recalled the words to him, he'd been very surprised. He'd always assumed that the elf-maid remembered little of their first encounter. Now it seemed that this was not so.  

The sounds of the forest around him drew Legolas from his thoughts. The tender chilling breeze teased the barren limbs of the forest into a cacophony of whispering. Every movement that broke the stillness of their surroundings was caught and echoed by that wind. To the sensitive ears of the elf, it seemed that the forest of Fangorn was instilled with life, the nature of which was quite beyond him. 

It was in this numinous atmosphere, under the silted silver glow of moonlight that Legolas first became aware of a presence other than that of their own group. Initially the figure might have been passed off as a figment of tired eyes and an overcautious mind for it was shrouded in shadow. Only the softly spun silver hair that glinted dully from beneath a hood indicated that it was more than an illusion. 

Moving with the grace and fluidity of a feline, Legolas rose silently to his feet, his hands feeling blindly for the solid bow. Numb fingers finally found the cold smooth wood of his weapon and he used it to reach across and nudge his sleeping companions. Aragorn woke instantly at the touch and rose up quietly, brow drawn in confusion and worry. Legolas did not speak but gestured in the direction of their visitor. 

Aragorn had not moved to wake Gimli, but he too started at their movements, grumbling loudly as he turned to them. To Legolas's ears, the dwarf's resounding voice was a thunderous roar that shattered the still of the night. And while his ears were more acute than most, it seemed that the stranger too had become aware that he had been noticed. Abandoning all attempts at stealth, the figure moved quickly out of the bushes, brittle undergrowth snapping loudly. 

"Stop him!" Aragorn cried to Legolas, as he himself stooped to seize his own sword. They ran together, but their efforts were in vain, for as soon as the chase had begun, it had ended. The stranger had decided that he could not outrun them and slowed to a halt raising his hands up in surrender. 

Aragorn squinted in the dark. Legolas knew that the man could not see what he could. The figure before them was clad in long heavy robes. He was very tall, and the silhouetted outline of his extended hands spoke volumes of his age. His fingers were long and gnarled, skin worn and paper-thin. The elf could not make out any weapons concealed in his robes, but in the dim light, he could not be certain.

"Turn around slowly, please." Aragorn's low menacing tone implied his caution. 

As the man complied, Legolas could see better now what they were dealing with. Clearly male, and he appeared quite old. He stooped slightly, as one might if one was saddled with the weight of experience and age. He wore a deep hood, and his eyes were heavily shadowed, but Legolas could clearly make out a long beard. He looked familiar, not in feature, but rather in presence. 

"Remove your hood." Aragorn circled around to his left, raising his sword as he did so. At the same time, Legolas reached down and pulled a singled arrow from his boot. As he nocked it, he could feel the painful tug on the torn muscle and skin of his injured arm and found that he could not yet draw back fully. But their visitor did not know this, and Legolas trained the arrow on him as he reached up and swept the fabric off his face. 

Just as he did so, Gimli arrived beside Legolas, axe hoisted high at his side. But the elf's eyes were fixed on the figure before them. As the hood was dropped, the man raised his eyes out of shadow and Legolas released a breath that he'd didn't even remember holding. Even in the illusory moonlight, Legolas could see the sparkle in the clear blue eyes that stared straight at him

"Mithrandir!" He murmured in amazement.

A short one, I know, but I just needed a change of scenery… more to follow, I swear.


End file.
